


Miss Sansa's Suitor

by vivilove



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Courtship, Cousins, F/M, Falling In Love, First Time, Late 18th Century New England, Romantic Fluff, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed, bundling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-02-28 13:10:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13272105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivilove/pseuds/vivilove
Summary: When her grandchildren discover something odd in her attic trunk, Sansa recalls the winter of 1798 when she fell in love with Jon Snow.**“What’s a bundling sack?” Lyanna asked.“It’s what folks would use for bundling,” Sansa answered evasively, knowing that would not deter the girl for a moment.“Grandmother…” the child said in a tone half pleading and half annoyed.“Would you like to hear of it?” she asked, hiding her grin as she recalled his shy smile and dark grey eyes reflecting the lantern light from many years earlier.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a sweet, romantic AU set in Late 18th Century New England.

 

“You don’t need scores of suitors. You need only one…if he’s the right one.”

-Louisa May Alcott, _Little Women_

* * *

 

 

“What is this, Grandmother?” Lyanna asked from the doorway of the parlor with Benjen at her heels.

Sansa raised her head from her sewing and adjusted her spectacles. She brushed back a strand of grey hair that had come loose from her bun. Only a few echoes remained of the vibrant auburn it had once been.

The bundles of ivory and dark green fabric in her granddaughter’s arms didn’t seem like much at first glance.

“What is what?” she asked, beckoning the girl closer.

“One’s just an old dress…but may I wear it, please? Benjen and I are going to perform a play for Mother and Father when they return and it’s fancy enough for my part. I’m going to play a duchess. We don’t know what the other thing is,” the girl rattled off like a magpie.

“It looks like an uncommonly large sack but it’s got fancy needlework,” Benjen said.

“Embroidery. It’s called embroidery,” Lyanna corrected her younger brother.

“Lyanna and I were playing hide and seek and found it in your attic in a trunk,” Benjen added next, ignoring his sister.

Sansa’s eyes widened with recognition as she saw what her youngest grandchildren had discovered. Her cheeks blossomed with color like any girl despite her having passed sixty years on this Earth. She reached out to touch the fine soft wool and she sighed to herself. Then, she spared a glance at the old ball gown.

“The dress would be too long for you but I will hem it and you may have it for your play. The other is a bundling sack,” she answered in a disinterested tone, returning to the shirt she’d been working on. “Come here, boy,” she said to Benjen. “Stand up straight and tall now like your papa.”

Her grandson was nearly eight and in need of a new shirt. He stood up tall like his father whose name he bore.

“What’s a bundling sack?” Lyanna asked.

“It’s what folks would use for bundling,” Sansa answered evasively, knowing that would not deter the girl for a moment.

“Grandmother…” the child said in a tone half pleading and half annoyed.

“Would you like to hear of it?” she asked, hiding her grin as she recalled his shy smile and dark grey eyes reflecting the lantern light from many years earlier.

The children both nodded and she gestured for them to sit at her feet.

“Long ago, when your grandfather and I were young, there was a tradition for courting couples called bundling. Well, it’s still around and there are those that still practice it but it’s fallen out of favor for most.”

“Will this story involve kissing?” Benjen asked in abject horror.

“No…and yes,” Sansa answered with a laugh.

“Oh, I love romantic stories,” Lyanna said with her hands clasped together, her innocence so startling it took Sansa’s breath away.

“So do I, my dear,” Sansa said as she lapsed into her memories.

 

* * *

 

 

It was the winter she was to turn seventeen when Sansa Stark’s sentiments towards her cousin Jon Snow changed forever.

Slender but strong with dark hair that curled and grey eyes, he had returned to Hartford from Yale College for Christmas. He was expected to graduate in the spring but for now he was home again for a month.

He had begun calling her Miss Sansa instead of just Sansa over the summer. He could hardly call her Miss Stark since he was her cousin. However, Arya was still called Arya but now Sansa received an honorific before her Christian name.

There were other changes as well. Jon would rise whenever Sansa walked in or out of a room and he would offer to pull out her chair when dinner was served.

She suspected Jon was only being polite by showing her some gentlemanly deference now that she was a young lady. She found pleasure in his gestures all the same before he left for New Haven again in the fall.

And now he would be returning to them for a visit. She was more eager to see him again that she would’ve anticipated and she began counting down the days until his expected arrival.

Tall and slim with long auburn hair, Miss Sansa Stark was regarded as a blossoming beauty by folks throughout Hartford…though she did not know that. She only hoped Jon might find her more mature and ladylike since summer.

Sansa wore her new day dress when Jon came ‘round to visit at last, a cornflower blue gown she had made with her own hands. Fitting her womanly figure well, Mother had praised her fine embroidery work on the cuffs and along the collar. Jon complimented her handiwork when she walked into the parlor saying she was clever with her needle though he had stuttered over his words at first.

Arya, who cared little for sewing, had rudely rolled her eyes but Sansa had been pleased by his praise and that he would mention her dress.

Jon had never been much given to prose or poetry. He’d never possessed much of what one might consider polish in the past at all though he had always been kind.

But as they sat by the hearth awaiting the rest of the family after supper when he visited one evening, he mentioned, in his quiet, hesitant way, how the light reflected in her hair, causing it to shimmer with a fire all its own. Sansa thought it was the most poetic thing she had ever heard. It may have influenced her decision to dress it simply and wear it down most of the time. She thought she was still enough of a girl to wear it down when it suited her.

When the family attended a dinner with Jon at the Umbers the night before Christmas, he even offered to escort her to table. In truth, one of Mr. Umber’s sons had approached her to do the same but Jon moved swiftly and asked first. Sansa felt strangely dizzy when he offered her his arm. Never had a gentleman escorted her to table at a dinner party and now it appeared two men had attempted to do so. But as they walked in together, Jon said nothing. He did, however, smile more than usual.

That evening, Sansa considered her cousin across the table as he helped Arya to the roast. He was a handsome young man though more serious than most men of twenty that Sansa knew.

But he did not seem so serious as he shared a laugh with her sister. His eyes crinkled at the corners with his laughter and his smile was quite infectious. Sansa’s cheeks grew warm watching him. He caught her eye as she went on staring for too long and smiled just for her then. She quickly turned away…but not before she gave him a fleeting smile in response.

Whilst they were dining, a fresh snowfall had begun and, when dinner ended, Jon offered his arm again as they trudged along the snowy, slushy lanes back towards the house.

“I wouldn’t wish for you to slip, Miss Sansa,” he said.

There was a tentativeness in his stance, as though he feared she would refuse him. But it was terribly cold out and she’d be warmer at his side.

 _That is all_ , she told herself as snowflakes drifted around them, coating his curls with white and giving Sansa a sense of what Jon might look like as an older man. _Still handsome_ , she decided.

His contented sigh as she took his arm and tucked herself against him stirred something in her soul…but she would not worry over it yet. Instead, she enjoyed the warmth of his arm through his coat and the smell of pine trees that seemed to cling to him.

Mother kept looking back at them ever so often. Sansa thought she should’ve been more concerned with Arya and the boys as they whooped and hollered and raced through the new snow like wild pups. They made quite a spectacle. At least, no one in town was out and about to witness it.

But Mother would turn back every few steps from where she and Father paced ahead and glance at the pair of them. Once she whispered something in Father’s ear and he turned back as well to look at them.

Sansa tried to ignore their looks for she was busy enough making conversation with Jon. He was not one to ramble on so it was up to her to carry the conversation, she thought.

“Are you enjoying your studies?” she would ask, or some similar question in hopes of encouraging him to speak.

“Yes, Miss Sansa,” he’d reply…or ‘No, Miss Sansa,’ depending on the question.

As they walked along, her struggling to initiate conversation with her cousin and him giving her one-word answers with ‘Miss Sansa’ always attached at the end, an unpleasant thought struck her.

_Perhaps he’s working on his manners to court some girl in New Haven._

Sansa felt an unfamiliar stab of some curious and displeasing emotion course through her at the thought. Her brow creased and an uneasy sense of frustration and denial developed. She was surprised to discover how cross this idea of Jon courting a girl in New Haven made her.

“Are you alright, Miss Sansa?” he asked.

She had stopped walking apparently and he stood beside her with concern etching his features.

“I’m…I’m quite well but…I’m afraid my boots are soaked. My feet are getting wet,” she said offhandedly as a way of lightening the mood and dismissing her inappropriate jealousy.

He chuckled beside her and said, “Then, we’d best keep walking towards your home before we risk frost bite.”

Her worries over young ladies in New Haven that Jon might wish to court receded. She decided to focus on acting as a young lady should and thanked her cousin prettily for his courtesies when they reached Winterfell.

“I believe there is ice in my veins from that walk. You should stay here for tonight, Jon,” Father said at the door. “We can find you a place to lay your head.”

“Thank you, Uncle…but I believe I’ll return home. I’ll make a fire and be warm soon enough. It’s not but two miles. Good night, Aunt Catelyn. Good night, Miss Sansa,” Jon said.

As he bid her goodnight, his gloved hand covered Sansa’s own on his arm for just an instant and he squeezed. The strangest little fluttering started up in her tummy from that for some reason. Sansa told herself to not be so foolish.

_He is only Cousin Jon. He is only being affectionate and kind. He couldn’t see me as anything beyond his kin…could he?_

But perhaps he could.  Their grandparents had been cousins as well.

Her parents turned and followed her younger sister and brothers inside but Sansa stood on the doorstep watching as Jon walked away into the night, his solitary figure illuminated by the glow of the moon on the snowy ground.

At the gatepost, he turned back. She could not see his face well at that distance in the dark but she imagined that he smiled and she raised a hand to wave at him. He raised his hand in return and her breath caught in her throat as he turned and strode away.

 _Oh dear_ , she thought with a shiver. There was no denying that something had changed in how she viewed him now.

Before she could give this development any more serious thought though, Mother started calling for her to hurry inside, shut the door and to take off her wet boots and stockings by the fire. So, Sansa lifted her skirts and hurried inside to do her mother’s bidding.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little Stark family history before we pick up the next morning (Christmas morning) of Sansa's memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact...according to certain historical sources (such as marriage/birth records), it's estimated that up to a third of all brides in Colonial America were already pregnant when they walked down the aisle. So much for that misconception that folks back then were so straight-laced they never got it on before putting a ring on it ;)

 

Eddard Stark had brought his infant nephew home for his young wife to care for in the fall of 1778 during the war before returning to his regiment in the Continental Army.

Against their father’s better judgment, his sister Lyanna had been allowed to leave home nearly two years earlier to stay with a family friend in Boston, a far more interesting place than Hartford for a young lady who enjoyed theater and balls. It was later learned that she had formed an unfortunate attachment with a French diplomat, a married man, and she was said to have left the home of her friend after a time.

In the meanwhile, their father and elder brother had passed away, one of illness and the other in the war, and Eddard had inherited the family home of Winterfell.

Eddard had learned of his sister’s whereabouts shortly before her death. He traveled to Boston and found his beloved sister dying from childbed fever in a lowly boarding house after giving birth to a son. He had made a solemn promise to care for her child.

It was whispered in corners of Hartford that Lyanna Stark had been unwed and given birth to a Frenchman’s bastard but Father had said she’d married a Mr. Snow from Providence who had died of pneumonia that winter. And, since Ned Stark was already widely respected for his honesty in Hartford, none dared question him openly.

Sansa did not know for certain what the truth was concerning her aunt though she suspected Jon knew. She only knew that her aunt was dead and Jon’s father reportedly was as well. Whether or not they had married was irrelevant at this point. Jon was Jon. He was part of her family and she loved him though now it seemed she was becoming attached to him in a different manner.

She had some early memories of Jon living at Winterfell but when he was nine and he had gone to live with their Uncle Benjen. Benjen Stark was a bachelor and walked with a limp from a wound that had not healed properly after the war. He admitted he could use help at home and the boy had offered to stay with him and be of use to his uncle. Benjen lived not so very far away and, though his cabin was simple and he lived more roughly than his brother, he gave his nephew a loving home.

It was perhaps for the best as the Stark family kept growing and Winterfell only had so many rooms. But the Stark children saw much of their cousin growing up. Catelyn Stark loved her nephew even if she had her hands full with her own children and often had him over to stay as a boy even after he went to live with Benjen.

Robb, the eldest, was only a couple of months older than Jon and they had been like brothers since they were still in swaddling clothes. Robb had married that past autumn after a hasty courtship. He and his wife, Jeyne, were living at Winterfell while he worked at a printing shop. He had hopes of building a home for them in the spring as Jeyne would bear their child in a few months.

Ayra, Bran and Rickon were all still at home naturally along with Sansa. Their old maid servant, Nan, who had served their father’s father, lived with them as well.

Sadly, Uncle Benjen had been ill with an ague and cough over the fall while Jon was away at Yale and he still had not fully recovered. Their cabin had fallen into disrepair after an especially bad snow storm in November but Jon was helping his uncles with the repairs whilst he was home.

 

* * *

 

 

Christmas Day arrived and Sansa awoke to the sound of her sister snoring beside her under their quilts like most days. But there was a heady excitement from the moment her eyes opened as she knew Jon was to meet them at church and have dinner with them afterwards.

Uncle Benjen had stayed home last night with his cough and would likely do the same today as he did not care much for attending services. However, Sansa was certain he would urge his nephew to enjoy the day with the rest of the family.

After church, Arya and the boys had snowball fights and romped about with the other children as their parents stood nearby conversing with other adults. And younger folks, like Sansa, spent time visiting with their friends or sweethearts under the watchful eyes of their elders.

Sansa had determined to introduce Jon to her friend Miss Margaery Tyrell and her brother in the hopes that one of them would invite him to the Tyrells’ New Year’s ball. It was to be quite a to-do for Hartford and Sansa didn’t wish to miss it…and she didn’t wish for Jon to miss it either.

The Tyrells were one of the newer families in Hartford, having moved there two years earlier. They owned one of the largest homes in town though and were known to be very well off. Margaery was expecting a proposal any day from one of her suitors although she played coy when asked if she planned on accepting any of them.

Mr. Renly Baratheon, who was great friends with her brother Loras, was considered to be the most likely to curry her favor in the end by some while others thought his nephew, Joffrey, might have a better chance to win Miss Tyrell’s hand as his mother’s family was exceedingly rich though unfortunately rather snobbish.

Sansa had feared her parents might not permit her to attend at first. They were not overly fond of the Tyrells’ extravagant ways. But, Sansa did not mind if Margaery owned a dozen pairs of gloves and had half as many suitors. She only knew that she wished to go to a ball…or the closest thing she’d ever seen that could be called such.

Thankfully, Robb and Jeyne were planning to attend and Robb had said he’d take Sansa and even Arya if she wished to go. Mother and Father would not object if he and Jeyne would agree to be their chaperones, Sansa knew.

And in her most private heart, Sansa wondered what Jon might think of her in the gown she’d made for just such an occasion. She had toiled over it for many hours during the autumn in hopes of wearing it to a spring assembly or a ball. But it would work perfectly well for a New Year’s party, she thought.

Mother had said the dark green finely-woven cotton was quite lovely with her fair skin and auburn hair and Sansa could not help but agree. It was not so fine nor fashionable as what one might see in New York or Philadelphia. London and Paris would certainly turn their noses up at it as a country girl’s frock. It was likely not even near as fine as any dress Miss Tyrell owned but it had the high waist and less full skirt that was all the rage in fashion now and Sansa had added ivory lace from one of her grandmother’s old gowns to the neckline and cuffs to give it some detail.

“Do you know who else is coming to the party?” Margaery asked Sansa once the introduction had been made and Jon had been invited to attend the ball by Loras.

He had mumbled a rather curt acceptance to Loras which Sansa found odd. He could be shy of new acquaintances though so Sansa dismissed it as that. He stayed close by her side in his best coat and hat as the conversation carried on and said little but something told her Jon was displeased in some manner. It was affecting Sansa’s ability to think clearly to a degree.

“Who?” Sansa responded to her friend politely though she did not truly care.

She nodded civilly at each name but internally she grew impatient at the lengthy list of young men that would be attending. Despite his quiet manner, she had developed a fondness for Jon’s company and the other unattached men of Hartford held no great appeal for her. She had grown particularly tired of the attentions of Mr. Hardyng. And she certainly had no intention of sharing any dances with the widower, Mr. Baelish if she could help it.

It was curious that Jon should utter an audible huff at her side when that man’s name was mentioned as though he could read her thoughts.

Margaery’s eyes narrowed and a cat-like smile curled her lips.

“Tell me, Mr. Snow,” she said, “I have some cousins in New Haven. Would you happen to know a Miss Elinor or Miss Megga Tyrell?”

“No, Miss Tyrell,” Jon replied with a glance at Sansa. “I’ve not met any young ladies to speak of in New Haven except the Dean’s daughter who is but fourteen.”

“Ah…well, perhaps you’ll meet some young ladies you find to your liking in Hartford whilst you are here,” Margaery said while batting her eyes at him and laying a gloved hand upon his arm.

Sansa chafed in irritation at the inexplicable behavior of her friend. She would not have considered her capable of such a forward display until she’d witnessed it first-hand. She bit her lip and hoped Jon would not be impressed by such.

“I was raised in Hartford, miss. I know plenty of young ladies here I like well enough already,” he said coolly as he adjusted his hat…and dislodged Margaery’s hand from his arm in the process.

Sansa’s eyes widened in shock and embarrassment. As much as she had been annoyed by Margaery’s behavior, she was astonished that Jon would speak so to a lady. And yet, there was a secret part of her which was strangely pleased that he had not succumbed to Margaery’s coquetry as so many men before him had.

Despite his chuff words and manner though, Loras merely chuckled under his breath and Margaery did not seem offended by Jon’s rudeness in the least.

While Sansa stood grasping for a topic to take away the awkwardness of the past minute, Mr. Hardyng approached to speak. He was a handsome and personable young man but Robb had warned her against him last summer when Mr. Hardyng had first shown interest in his little sister.

He was reportedly determined to make himself a good match with a girl who would bring him a fat dowry, Robb had said. Mr. Hardyng had said as much in an unguarded moment with only other gentlemen present. However, it was a very broadly-known secret that he had fathered a bastard on a farmer’s daughter in the next county. There were even rumors of more than one farmer’s daughter that had been ruined by Mr. Hardyng in that manner.

While the Starks lived comfortably, they were not considered rich. There was only a modest dowry set aside for Sansa and Arya’s future marriages. And, whatever Mr. Hardyng’s intentions were towards her, Sansa had no interest in such a man which was a comfort to her male relatives as well. She merely tolerated him out of courtesy but would never be so foolish as to allow herself to be left alone with him. Thus, she was grateful to have Jon by her side.

However, as Mr. Hardyng prattled on, she nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt the press of Jon’s hand against her lower back. He was slowly rubbing it up and down like Father sometimes did with Mother. The motion was oh, so slight but she was incapable of ignoring it…or what it made her feel.

“I beg your pardon but I believe your parents are ready to leave, Miss Sansa,” he said, leaning forward and cutting off Mr. Hardyng’s flow as his warm breath ghosted across her cheek.

Sansa tried to make sense of his words as her mind conjured the most improper thought at his touch. Rather than his gloved hand touching her covered back, she imagined him stroking her bare back…a most wanton and wicked image. Her cheeks grew hot as though she’d been standing too close to a fire instead of in the biting air of the December morning.

_At least they’ll suspect the cold has painted my cheeks rather than the truth._

She took a step away to regain her presence of mind and his hand fell back to his side as his brow furrowed. He flexed his hand and looked away…as though he was surprised by his actions.

Just as Jon had said, Sansa saw Mother making her way towards their circle. She bid her farewells to the others before they both turned towards her mother.

“Shall I escort you home, Miss Sansa?” he asked bashfully.

“Yes…home would be nice,” she replied, gingerly taking his arm whilst deciding to forget the previous riot of emotions he had brought about with just his touch and choosing to savor the warmth and closeness of him again.

But when Mother came and took Sansa’s other arm to speak of the latest news and talk of Christmas dinner, Jon relinquished his hold on her and walked behind the ladies, staying back with Arya and the boys.

However, anytime Sansa looked over her shoulder, he was always there, right behind her with his eyes on her and a half-smile playing at his lips.

 

* * *

 

 

Jon stayed for the goose Mother and Nan had prepared and was told he would be taking some home to Uncle Benjen later. He talked with Father and Robb whilst Jeyne and Sansa were busy in the kitchen helping finish the other dishes.

As the entire household sat down together for dinner, Sansa found Jon’s eyes upon her more often than not. She knew this because her eyes were often seeking his in return.

The blessing was asked and the goose was carved but Sansa could not focus on the festive atmosphere or the conversations carrying on around her. She was aware of little else except her cousin who was seated opposite her.

Every time he looked her way, every smile she received sent a pleasant jolt coursing through her blood. Then, there were times he wasn’t even smiling at her, when he wore a strangely dark and intent look that sparked something foreign inside her and caused heat to coil low in her belly.

Sometimes, she would catch his eye on her and she would smile at him. But then sometimes, she found she could not manage a smile…she could only stare back and do her best to remember to breathe.

What was this? It seemed rather silly that she should spend so much time looking at Jon. And why did he look at her like that? And why in Heaven’s name did it affect her so?

She discreetly fanned herself with her napkin as she finally acknowledged what instinct was trying to tell her. Last night’s walk and their parting at the door had most certainly not been forgotten. His attentive behavior since summer, sometimes bordering on proprietary, suddenly made complete sense.

_Am I the girl Jon is practicing his manners on because he wishes to court me? Could I have a would-be suitor in him perhaps?_

She hoped so. She hoped so very much.

Ever since Sansa was a little girl listening to romantic tales at her mother’s knee, she had dreamed of the day when she might be grown enough to have a suitor…or perhaps a dozen of them.

But now, she found there was only one young man that she wished to call hers. The realization was startling and thrilling at the same time.

Unfortunately, it would seem they may have spent more time exchanging glances and smiling at one another than was quite proper. As the meal progressed, Father cleared his throat loudly at one point and sat his knife and fork down in clear indication that he found something disagreeable. His hands were clasped before him on the table and his jaw was clenched as he gave Jon a very stern look.

The others at table were flummoxed by Father’s actions. They too stopped eating and waited to see if the head of the house would speak. But, as Father remained silent and kept his eyes on Jon, in time the rest began eating again and continued their conversations though a touch stiffly at first. Mother, however, sipped her wine and shot her husband a withering glare.

Jon’s normally pale cheeks had flushed scarlet above his beard. He lowered his eyes, keeping them on his plate as he returned to his meal. He did not glance Sansa’s way again during dinner.

She frowned at her own plate and wondered at it after several failed attempts to catch his eye once more. She fretted over this development far more than his earlier staring and her desire to stare back.

Immediately after dinner, Father and Jon disappeared into his study for a time. Mother prompted Sansa to sing while Jeyne played the pianoforte for the others but she had no heart for singing, she found. She did her best but her eyes kept wandering towards the doorway, anxiously waiting for Father and Jon to reappear.

She kept mixing up the verses until Arya stood beside her to sing one song with her in a good-natured effort to steer her back on course. She smiled at her sister but, on the inside, Sansa thought she might rather cry. It was utterly ridiculous. Father spoke to Jon often enough in his study. There was nothing to worry about.

When they came out at last, Sansa could feel Jon’s eyes upon her once more as he took a seat beside Robb on the settee. It was then that Sansa relaxed and sang steady and true, a sweet, husky contralto.

However, as soon as her song was done, he rose to his feet, wishing everyone a Merry Christmas and saying he mustn’t neglect Uncle Benjen any longer.

He headed towards the door alone to put on his coat, gloves and hat. Sansa did not know what possessed her but she could not seem to let him leave with no more than a nod. She begged her mother’s pardon and asked to be excused, sighing with relief when Mother looked pointedly at Father and gave her permission.

She raced to the front door where Jon was buttoning his coat.

“Must you leave so soon?” she asked breathlessly, overcome with sadness for reasons she could not name.

A pleased smile had spread across his face when she had joined him. It broadened at her question. “I should get home. Uncle Benjen will be eager to enjoy some of Aunt Cat and Nan’s goose…but I hope to return soon.”

“Oh,” she said in what she hoped was a tone of non-concern. “Well, then…that’s good, I suppose. Please, give Uncle Benjen my love.”

He nodded and she fiddled with the cuff of her dress sleeve. She looked down at the floor as he drew on his gloves, expecting him to head out the door.

Instead, she felt him draw nearer and his boots came into view. She glanced up to find him staring at her intently, like earlier at dinner but this was so much more. He was so close. His eyes were darker than normal and they flitted between her eyes and her mouth.

Sansa felt too warm and flushed all over. She was more than a little flustered at the way he was staring at her this close.

“Would it please you if I should return soon?” he asked, his voice rough and deep, waking that needful ache low in her belly again.

She knew her eyes had grown wide and wondered if she looked like a frightened rabbit. She was a little frightened. There was this nervous sort of quiver he was eliciting with his intense gaze and his question but it was not unpleasant. She did not trust her voice enough to speak.

She nodded her assent and his eyes grew soft.

He touched her hand briefly that was still fiddling with her cuff. Like a pebble tossed into a pond, the mere touch of his fingertips across the back of her hand scattered her wits and caused a stirring in her chest.  Her heartbeat doubled in an instant. She longed for something that in her innocence she could barely speak of…even in her mind. But, the desire was there all the same.

_I should like for you to kiss me, I think._

He opened his mouth and shut it as though he had something he wished to say. But he wound up saying, “I hope to see you soon, Miss Sansa,” before pulling on his hat and walking out the door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have no fear...Papa Ned just needs a little time to get used to this development. He will though and the courting will begin in earnest next chapter!
> 
> I'm working on this one and may continue to post on it every couple of days until it's completed because I really don't want another lingering WIP right now. Also, I'm enjoying writing it so there's that :) 
> 
> On a related note, I am at a loss when it comes to which of my longer Jonsa WIPs I want to update next. Is there one you'd like to see updated next? Let me know in the comments. I'm curious to hear and maybe it'll motivate me!
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa frets over Jon's absence but receives an unexpected opportunity to visit him. And Jon is invited back to dine at Winterfell by Ned and later asks to speak with Sansa alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WTF...This chapter got mega long on me! Anyway, I'm working on updates of Love Thy Neighbor and A Match but wanted to post this. I hope to get the final two chapters of this edited and posted by next week.

 

 _“I hope to see you soon, Miss Sansa,”_ he had said.

However, three days had passed and Jon had not returned.

As Sansa lay abed after the third day, she tugged at the quilts discontentedly and rolled over in agitation once more as she sought sleep, waking her sister with her antics.

“Be still,” Arya huffed.

“I’m sorry,” Sansa whispered.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Get some sleep.”

She laid there pretending to be made of stone, staring up at the ceiling as Arya shifted and grew quiet. But her mind was busier than ever. The memory of his voice rumbled in her head. She pictured his grey eyes, dark and intense, as he had stared at her in the hall. She recalled the flushed and heady feel of standing so close to him, that aching wish for something she’d never known it incited.

 _His lips…I wanted to feel them pressed against my own_.

Without conscious thought, she rubbed her legs together to try and bring some relief to the tension that was spooling there. Her hands slid slowly down her body along her night rail, grazing her breasts through the fabric before skimming her flat tummy and resting atop of her thighs.

 _“Would it please you if I should return soon?”_ echoed in her mind.

 _Yes,_ she thought as a quiet whimper passed between her lips.

It was then that she heard a moan from the next room…Robb and Jeyne’s room. It was low but by now she knew what that sound signaled.

She covered her face with her pillow as Arya, who had not yet drifted off again, did the same. With a tap of Arya’s foot against her leg, they began humming a tune together. This was something they never spoke of aloud. They had simply worked out this method of disregarding the noises from the next room on the rare occasions that they were both still awake when it began.

Robb and Jeyne were married. It was natural enough. A distraction was all that was needed for them to go on ignoring this aspect of marriage that girls and unmarried young ladies were not supposed to reflect upon.

But tonight, the humming did not work so well for Sansa. Her ears seemed determined to defy her good intentions by picking up the rhythmic creaking of the other bed through the wall and every muffled grunt or cry.

However, she wasn’t thinking of her brother and sister-in-law in the next room at all. She thought of Jon. She thought of his smile that stirred her, his warm arms and what husbands and wives did together in the night…as much as she knew of it anyway.

As she continued blindly humming like a little girl, her throat burned with unshed tears of frustration. She’d rather start clawing at her face than lie here. There was something that she was lacking, both mysterious and unattainable, that these wicked thoughts awakened. It was as though she couldn’t breathe, stuck in her room beside her sister and listening to things that caused unseemly imaginings.

A reckless desire to rise from the bed, run down the stairs and out the door into the night struck. She was nearly ready to act on the impulse when Arya tapped her leg again.

“It’s quiet now,” her sister said matter-of-factly before rolling over and yawning. “Good night, Sansa.”

“Good night.” She blinked and sighed heavily.

She yawned and wanted to sleep…but sleep was long in finding her. All through the night, she could not rid her mind of Jon. In her innocence, all she could think to wish for was to be held by him, close together in bed with his arms wrapped tightly around her all night. She felt a bit of shame at the thought but clung to it tenaciously all the same.

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning, a very tired and irritable Sansa trudged down the stairs for breakfast with no appetite. With each day that had passed since Christmas, she had grown more listless and snappish, leading Mother to correct her behavior more than once.

Her mother was sitting at the kitchen table going over the household ledger. Sansa could feel her watching her closely as she picked at her oatmeal. It made her angry for some reason.

Nan was baking a pie from the last of the goose. Sansa gave up on eating and drew out her sewing from the hamper on the kitchen hearth. She was working on a cap for Robb and Jeyne’s child but her efforts seemed destined for disaster this morning. She tutted and grew vexed as she had to correct yet another mistake.

Robb galloped down the stairs for his meal before he was to head to work. He wished them all a good morning in a bright mood, kissing their mother’s cheek before teasing her about her sour expression. Sansa grumbled under her breath about good spirits and rest going hand in hand.

“Is that for me, Nan?” Robb asked, looking wistfully at the pie.

“No, Mr. Robb,” Nan said affectionately as she swatted at his grasping hand. “That is for your father, uncle and cousin.” Sansa’s head popped up in curiosity as Robb asked why they were so lucky. “They’re laboring all day over repairs to your uncle’s cabin. The sun is out though it’s still so cold. I was going to ask if one of your sisters or brothers would mind taking it to them,” the old woman answered.

“I’ll take it to them!” Sansa said, rising from the table eagerly and heading towards the stovetop.

_Yes, I’ll take it to them. Let me out of this house. Let me stretch my legs and walk and feel the biting cold. But mostly…let me see him._

“It’s not cooled any yet, child,” Nan said. “You’ll burn your fingers. And it’s for their noontime meal…not breakfast. Heavens,” she chuckled, “are you so eager to be out in the cold, my angel?”

Sansa’s cheeks burned as Robb looked at her in astonishment and Mother studiously studied her ledger though Sansa thought she saw a smile.

“Since when were you in such a rush to tromp two miles to Uncle Benjen’s in the snow?” Robb asked.

“I…I only thought to…”

“You may take the pie, Sansa,” Mother said, looking up.

“Oh, thank…”

“But you must wait for your sister to go with you.”

“Yes, Mother,” Sansa said, deflating at once.

Arya would enjoy going but she was appallingly slow about getting up and dressed and eating sometimes. Sansa was sure to lose her temper with her. But there was no way round it. Mother had said she was to wait for her sister. And it was still too early to head out. She picked up her sewing again in hopes that it would distract her. It didn’t.

 

* * *

 

 

“What’s the hurry?” Arya asked as they bundled up. “It’s not even 11 o’clock.”

“They’ll be hungry,” Sansa answered, tugging on her hat and shifting the basket holding the pie across her forearm as they set off at last.

“They ate breakfast, I’m sure.”

“Well, they’re working. Come along. The pie will get cold if we tarry.”

Arya snorted but said nothing else.

They walked along the lane away from town before setting off down the path that led through the woods towards Uncle Benjen’s cabin. The icicles in the trees sparkled and shone in the morning sunlight. The beauty of it nearly moved her to tears. Arya raced ahead laughing but Sansa would not be cross over that.

 _Who could not be happy on such a glorious day?_ she thought as they walked, the snow crunching beneath their boots.

It was not until they came close to the cabin that Sansa felt apprehensive. He had not come to see them in three days. Would he be pleased to see her? Or indifferent?

The sound of a hammer drew her closer and something shifted in her chest at the sight that met her eyes.

Up on the roof was Jon hammering at some wooden shingles. His hair was untied and the curls that were normally kept back in a tidy queue were hanging loose about his chin. His cheeks were reddened by the cold and his labor.

He was in home-spun breeches. He wore a simple white shirt with the sleeves rolled up his forearms and no cravat or neckerchief. His coat and hat had been abandoned nearby. Sansa found his appearance an appealing contrast to his best clothes and hat from Christmas.

She meant to call his name but, with his shirt unbuttoned partway down, she could see a good deal of his chest. He was quite muscular and impure thoughts invaded her mind at once. She gasped under her breath and lost the use of her tongue.

But Arya was not moved to madness by the sight of Jon’s chest or him in his shirtsleeves. “Jon! Hello, Jon!”

“Arya…Miss Sansa!” he said in surprise as he looked up at Arya’s uncouth hallooing.

“Where’s Father and Uncle Benjen?” Arya asked as he made to climb down the ladder.

“Be careful,” Sansa cautioned automatically as he raced heedlessly down towards them.

He grinned at her fretting, his eyes aglow as he drew near them and that ridiculous fluttering began in her belly.

“Uncle Ned and Benjen went down to the Glovers to recover our maul that they had borrowed but they’ve been gone a good while. Mrs. Glover is likely making them stay for some refreshment. What brings you both here?”

“We came because of the pie,” Sansa sputtered awkwardly, immediately rolling her eyes and sighing inwardly that her wits had apparently abandoned her.

Jon’s eyebrows lifted in question and Arya said in a far more sensible tone, “Nan made goose pie for the three of you and Mother asked us to bring it to you.”

“Oh! Well, that was very kind of her and kind of you both to bring it.” He hesitated for only a moment before inviting them inside. His eyes sought hers and, despite the cold, she felt a pleasant warmth, like an icicle melting in the sunshine when he added, “It’s not like Winterfell. It’s a bit rough for a lady but…”

“Goodness, Jon,” Arya laughed. “We’ve been to Uncle Benjen’s before.”

“We should be very pleased to visit your home,” Sansa said, finding her tongue and good sense at last.

“May I unburden you, Miss Sansa?” he asked, reaching for her basket.

She nodded, passing it over and following him inside.

Benjen’s cabin contained a common room with a hearth, table and stove on one end and a modest sitting area on the other. There were two small bedrooms attached to it. It was not large or fancy at all but quite clean, homey and warm with the fire burning in the hearth.

“It’s not much,” he said sheepishly, looking around as though he was trying to picture it through her eyes.

“It’s all anyone needs,” Sansa replied.

Jon gave her a half-smile and offered to take her coat and hat as Arya had already removed hers and hung it on one of the pegs by the door. Her sister had flopped down on the floor by the fire to give Jon’s dog Ghost some attention.

Sansa turned, allowing him to remove her coat. She said not a word but she could not help but tremble slightly as his hands ghosted across her shoulders. She admonished herself for harboring the foolish desire to swoon over it.

He cleared his throat and scratched at the back of his neck when she turned to face him again.

“Your dress…it’s pretty,” he said haltingly.

She was only wearing a simple brown woolen dress. She normally wore it at home when there was laundry or cleaning to do but, with the walk through the snow, she didn’t think her newer blue dress would be practical. She had embroidered some snowflakes on it for practice though…and just because she liked them.

“Thank you,” she murmured, bobbing her head demurely.

She was certain her hair was windblown and her hat would not have helped matters. Her cheeks and the tip of her nose were red from the cold but the way he was smiling at her made her feel beautiful all the same.

“Shall I fetch my coat?” he asked uncertainly as he realized his state of undress. His hands rose up and he deftly buttoned his shirt up.

“No…you’re perfectly fine,” she answered, silently regretting his actions. “I’ve missed seeing you these past days,” she said a minute later with a touch of accusation.

His eyes dropped and he shuffled his feet. “I’ve been helping Uncle Benjen and I…well, I’ve been waiting for…”

Whatever he’d been waiting for though, she did not learn then as the door to the cabin opened and in walked her father and uncle.

“They came because of the pie,” Jon stammered out when the two older men expressed their surprise at seeing the girls.

Sansa could not help but giggle at that.

 

Much to her delight, Uncle Benjen had insisted that the two of them stay and join them for the goose pie. He had some good cider that he served which helped keep the chill at bay. The five of them sat down and enjoyed their meal with Ghost at their feet waiting for any morsels that might be dropped. He was well-loved and found several tidbits tossed his way.

Having no wish to displease Father, Sansa was sure not to stare too noticeably at Jon this time and Jon was clearly doing the same. But that did not mean they did not look at each other on occasion and share a smile…or several.

The men discussed their progress on the cabin and other matters but included Sansa and Arya in their talk as well.

After the meal, Uncle Benjen smoked his pipe by the fire though Jon said it made his cough worse. Father sat beside him whilst Sansa and Jon washed up the plates and cutlery together. Arya and Ghost had gone outside in search of hares and mischief.

They said little, mindful of their elders talking nearby. But, Sansa could not complain. She was happy to be in his company after days of pining for it. Jon seemed to feel the same though he would often look over his shoulder at Father as though he was seeking some sign from his uncle.

They did manage to have their own quiet discussion about the upcoming ball and simpler matters like Rickon’s new slingshot that he was busy wreaking havoc with. And when Sansa would pass him a plate to dry, their fingers would brush, making her heart beat faster.

The washing done at last, Sansa went to put on her coat and hat. She feared she couldn’t delay collecting her sister and leaving much longer. The men still had work to do.

“Jon?” Father said from his seat before she could utter any farewells.

“Yes, Uncle Ned?”

“Come to dinner tomorrow night. It’s time, I believe.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jon said with an audible sigh of relief that made no sense to Sansa.

Her father smiled indulgently at her and she wondered what this was about. She decided not to let it trouble her though. Jon would be coming to dinner tomorrow night. That was enough for now.

Jon walked her outside, handing her the basket and then watched as she and her sister set back off down the path arm in arm. Before the turning of the path that would hide the cabin from their view, she turned back. He was still watching them. She waved and so did Arya before they continued on their way.

 

* * *

 

 

Mother had been pleased to learn that Jon would be coming to dinner. And the following evening, when he was due at any moment, Mother had insisted on taking her upstairs and helping her arrange her hair.

“Why must I wear it up tonight, Mother?” Sansa asked as her mother carefully brushed her auburn tresses till they were shining like copper.

“It’s just time,” her mother replied enigmatically.

In the end, Sansa was pleased with the braid her mother wove into a bun. She hoped Jon would like it.

But when he arrived, he was only able to give her a cursory greeting as she took his coat before he was cornered by Rickon about his slingshot. She saw his eyes take note of her hair but he said nothing leaving her strangely disheartened.

_Don’t be a silly girl. So you’re wearing your hair up. Why should he make mention of it?_

Dinner passed amiably for everyone…except Sansa and Jon it seemed. He was clearly in a reflective mood which would not be so bad if he would but smile at her a time or two. However, no smiles did she receive. He had little to say and ate his dinner steadily but with no apparent relish. The ham was good so she didn’t think the food was to blame. It put Sansa off her own appetite.

She chewed at her lip and sipped the glass of wine Father had allowed her tonight. She had looked forward to Jon coming so much and now he seemed unhappy to be here. She hoped she had not done something to offend him.

_I’m almost certain I haven’t done anything. Why must men be so trying? What am I to do?_

He disappeared into the study with Father again immediately after dinner and Sansa was in no mood to join the others in the parlor. She begged to be excused to do some knitting in her mother’s sitting room. She hoped it might calm her ruffled spirits.

“May I speak with you a moment?” Jon asked from the doorway just as she had found her rhythm with her needles.

She noticed he did not add ‘Miss Sansa’ at the end of his question and that he was alone.

“Of course, you may, Jon,” she said, laying down her work and giving him her attention.

He had asked to speak and yet he did not. He paced the room, once…twice…thrice, glancing at her on and off as he did so. She nervously smoothed her skirts but kept a civil smile on her face and waited. That same blasted fluttering began in her tummy again.

He stopped pacing abruptly, smiled anxiously and then sat at the edge of the room’s other chair, wringing his hands together.

“What I meant to say…I…” he began before he changed course. “Your hair looks lovely tonight.”

“Thank you.”

“I prefer it down but this is…”

“Oh,” she said, disappointed.

“I…God,” he muttered under his breath. “Forgive me. It’s quiet lovely as it is, Sansa. I’m only used to it down. It’s very…this is not what I came to say!” he chuckled to himself and rubbed his hands over his face. “I’m nervous and not certain where to begin.”

“Ah,” she said, trying desperately not to let her hopes climb too high. “Well, perhaps…” She trailed off, unsure of what he might wish to hear. “Just take your time and think it through,” she suggested. “I’m in no hurry here.”

She picked back up her needles and the booties she was knitting. She would catch him watching her hands as they worked. He seemed content just to watch for a time so she worked, the clicking of her needles soothing them both. For several minutes they sat thus until at last he spoke again.

“It may not have escaped your notice that I have…well, I’ve been rather…” He faltered and sighed. “Sansa…I’m…”

“There you are!” Rickon shouted from the doorway. “I’ve been looking all over for you, Jon. You said you’d help me with my aim after dinner.”

“I did?” he asked in clear puzzlement.

“Of course, you did,” her youngest brother argued. “When I greeted you before supper and Sansa was taking your coat. I asked and you agreed. You said you’d take me out to practice my aim with my slingshot after dinner.”

“But it’s dark out,” Jon protested. “We won’t be able to see a thing.”

“You said you’d teach me to hold it properly and aim. You promised,” Rickon whined. “Honestly, it’s only Sansa knitting in here. Please, Jon!”

Jon scowled at his youngest cousin but rose to follow him, leaving Sansa bereft that he would leave in the midst of whatever it was he wished to speak to her of.

But as he reached the hall, he murmured a few words to Rickon. She heard her brother’s disgruntled acknowledgement before Jon turned back to her and closed the door behind him.

Sansa felt dizzy. This was not entirely proper. She worried what Mother would think…or Father. And yet, she did not wish for them to be interrupted again.

He walked purposely back over to her and she gasped when he knelt before her. He took her hand, causing her knitting needles to fall from her lap.

“Sansa…I apologize for my manners but I cannot wait any longer to speak,” he said hurriedly, staring at her hand in his. “I’ve asked Uncle Ned for permission to court you. I asked Christmas Day after dinner when we spoke in his study but he said he must consider it a day or two.”

He glanced up at her shyly, drew a deep breath and continued.

“The waiting has been agony for me but I did not wish to come ‘round until he gave me an answer. Being in your company and not knowing if your parents approved…it troubled me so I stayed away. But yesterday when you came to the cabin…I wish I could put into words how pleased I was to see you.”

She smiled briefly at that. His thumb swept over the back of her hand where he held it and she leaned towards him. He did not notice though for he wasn’t done speaking.

“When your father invited me to dinner yesterday, I hoped…and sure enough he has given me his blessing after dinner just now but…I would wish to know your thoughts.”

Sansa could do no more than blink at him as her mind whirled with half a dozen thoughts at once. Jon had spoken to Father. He wished to court her. Father had agreed to a courtship between them. She had a serious suitor, the only one she wished for.

“I will not pretend that I am worthy of a beautiful and refined young lady such as yourself. I am not wealthy and have no fine home to offer you. And I believe you are aware of the questions that linger over my birth.”

She wished to tell him that none of that mattered to her but still he spoke.

“I will not press you to reply now but allow me to say that I esteem and admire you greatly. I have always been proud to call you my kin but last summer when I was home my feelings…they took a different turn and I became quite taken with you. I had thought to wait until you were older and I had finished my studies but I cannot hide my heart any longer. I am ill equipped at concealment when it comes to my passion for you, I find.”

Sansa could not believe this was really happening. Her heart pounded and she licked her lips.

“Anyway, I hope that you will consider me as a…as a potential suitor…for I should very much like to make you my wife someday.” A flush stained his cheeks but his eyes were intent. “I…I love you,” he stammered at last. “I love you, Sansa, and I would spend every day of my life doing my best to be a good husband to you should you ever grant me the honor of marrying you.”

Sansa sat back in shock, too overwhelmed to speak for a moment. The hint of a smile that had started to form on his face with his final declaration faded in the face of her silence. He let go of her hand.

“I…I do not wish to be presumptuous or cause you any grief and, if my words are unwelcome, I beg your pardon from the bottom of my heart, Miss Sansa. I will leave you alone so you may think on what I have said,” he added dejectedly as he rose swiftly to go.

“No, Jon…wait,” she said before he could reach the door. He turned back and she gave him a smile then, a warm and loving smile. She rose to her feet though she felt a bit unsteady and said, “I do not need time to think. I should like to be courted by you.”

In a heartbeat, he was before her once more, standing close, the heat of him promising to warm her all through the winter if she’d allow it.

“You would?” he asked.

“I would like it very much.”

He grasped her hand again, pressing his lips to it and making her blush.

A kiss on the hand should’ve been enough. It was quite forward of him but she couldn’t seem to stop herself from wanting more from Jon in this moment. She gazed at him intently, willing him to understand as her eyes moved to his lips.

 _Don’t make me ask for it. Not this first time_ , she begged with her eyes.

He was still holding her hand between his chest and hers when he leaned forward slightly and she mirrored his action. Like a dance, bit by bit they drew closer until she closed her eyes. Immediately after that, she felt his lips against her own. It was sweet and chaste, an ideal first kiss…but the longing was there and one or the other or the both of them moaned softly when their mouths parted.

When her eyes opened, he was breathing heavily. His eyes were hooded and dark. “I’ve wanted to do that for some time now,” he rasped, sending a shiver of desire singing through her, straight to her core.

A knock at the door brought them both back to the present and Sansa sat down quickly, taking up her needles again as she called for whoever it was to enter.

“Did you need another candle in here, Sansa?” Mother asked from the doorway with a smirk.

“No, thank you, Mother,” she said, surprised at how calm she sounded. She suspected her face was as flushed as Jon’s though. “I was working at finishing these up. Jon has been good enough to keep me company but I believe we’ll join everyone in the parlor now.”

“Very well, dear.”

Sansa rose to her feet again and Jon offered her his arm as she passed. And when Mother was out of earshot, she leaned towards his ear and whispered, “I love you, too.”

Sansa knew then, even if she lived to be an old woman with grey hair, she’d never forget his smile in response to her words.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon courts Sansa and Catelyn shares knowledge with her daughter. Later, Jon and Sansa attend the ball on a snowy New Year's night.

 

Another restless night with little sleep passed and yet Sansa was not in a foul mood when she awoke the next morning. How could she be after what had transpired the previous night?

She dressed with care for church and counted to one hundred as she brushed out her hair. She should wear it up in a bun. She was a young lady with a suitor, not a child. But she only pulled it partially back off her face and otherwise left it free. Jon preferred it down so she would wear it thus today.

She arranged her fichu and chose to add an adornment. She tied a blue velvet ribbon, a shade darker than her eyes, around her neck. She surveyed the look in her mirror and decided it was a fine addition.

The day was the warmest they’d had in a week and the snow had turned slushy on the path. The streets were muddy. She dreaded trying to wash the filth from the hem of her blue dress tomorrow but there was no avoiding it. But, nothing could truly dampen her mood as she and Arya linked arms and followed behind Mother, Father, Jeyne and Robb as they walked to town with the boys running ahead.

At the gate leading to the churchyard, Jon waited to escort her inside. Mother had said she could sit beside him during the service. It would be the first sign to folks outside the family that Jon Snow was courting Miss Sansa Stark.

They smiled bashfully at one another as Father clapped Jon on the shoulder and Robb awkwardly shook his hand. Whatever the initial strangeness felt at the change of circumstances though the family moved inside as one.

Sansa saw Margaery watching with interest when she took her seat next to Jon. She whispered something to her brother Loras and they both smiled at her. Sansa decided they were pleased for her and smiled back. Regardless of Margaery’s behavior on Christmas Day, she had plenty of suitors of her own and Sansa did not think she held any true interest in Jon. Still, Sansa’s hand itched to take Jon’s in her own in that moment to make it clear that he was her suitor. But that would be very forward here in church so she kept them folded in her lap like a lady.

Other heads turned their way as the church filled up. She and Jon sat ramrod straight beside each other, doing their best to ignore the fact that they would likely be the subject of town gossip for a day or two. At least it was a good variety of gossip and nothing remotely sordid. She found the notion of being discussed in other parlors today somewhat pleasing but also embarrassing.

She wondered if Jon was greatly bothered by it. He was not fond of gossip and talebearers ordinarily. But judging by the smile upon his face when Mr. Mormont made a point to come over and speak, bowing politely to Sansa and wishing Jon a good day, she thought he might not mind this.

Most folks seemed happy to see them together. However, Mr. Hardyng appeared vexed when he spied them which did not surprise her and Mr. Baelish did as well. She hid a wicked grin behind her hand at that. She wanted neither man’s attention and she was delighted for them to see her sitting next to Jon.

Even Joffrey Baratheon watched them with pursed lips. She couldn’t imagine why. He was one of Margaery’s suitors though he’d been flirtatious with her a time or two. But why should he stare at her now and look so angry?

_It doesn’t matter. I am his and will never be any of yours._

Reverend Chayle nodded at the two of them before he began the service causing her to flush and bow her head. She wondered what it would be like to stand before that man to become Jon’s wife. She hoped to find out.

Once church was over, Jon walked back to Winterfell with them. She held his arm as they walked behind the married couples with Arya and the boys bringing up the rear. She would catch Robb, Mother or Father glancing back from time to time but none could fault their behavior. It was perfectly proper and within the bounds of decorum.

“Did you enjoy the sermon today, Miss Sansa?” Jon asked at one point when they were nearly home.

“Yes, it was…fascinating,” she replied.

Truthfully, she could recall nothing of the sermon. She had been far too distracted by Jon sitting so close. The church was full and the pews had been crowded. He’d been forced to sit with his leg pressed against her own. The heady scent of pine seemed to linger about his person and, even through his breeches and her skirt and petticoat, she could feel the warmth of his thigh against hers. It was late December but Sansa had spent much of the service fanning herself. Jon had sat stiff as a pointer on a duck. She could feel the tension rolling off him in waves. It was matched by her own.

He smiled to himself and whispered in her ear, “Perhaps you could tell me what it was about then. I fear I was not attending the good reverend’s words as I ought this morning.”

Her eyes widened in shock…and then she suppressed a giggle. Father looked over his shoulder at them but then smiled and returned to listening to Mother.

“I wasn’t either,” she confessed. She ducked her chin and whispered, “I was daydreaming some.”

“Daydreaming, was you?” he asked with a wicked smirk. She nodded and her cheeks were certainly scarlet now. “Aye…perhaps I did a bit of that myself. We’re a pair of sinners this morning, I suppose.”

“Perhaps,” she grinned before grasping his arm a bit tighter.

His hand came up very briefly covering her own and then she felt the swiftest brush of his glove at her throat. She swayed against him shamefully as he withdrew his hand. His hot breath tickled her cheek when he spoke again.

“Your ribbon…it’s pretty,” he said with eyes as dark as night.

“Thank you,” she sighed, pleased beyond measure that he would mention it.

_We’re not sinners. Just in love._

She did not find herself bothered by the knowledge in the least.

 

* * *

 

 

The day passed with Jon close by her side for most of it. He stayed for dinner and afterwards they were permitted to sit together in Mother’s sitting room for a spell alone…so long as the door remained open.

The things they spoke of were not likely to impress any great philosophers. They talked of their simple dreams of home and family, of plans for the future and common interests whilst learning more of each other and the people they were growing to be. They held hands for a time when she’d tired of knitting. She could not have been happier.

Before long, Mother called them back into the parlor and Sansa was asked to sing and play. She sang and played joyfully…and for Jon. Her eyes sparkled with pleasure every time she glanced his way and found him rooted to his same spot on the settee, never taking his eyes off her.

Once he had left, Mother brought her to her bedroom saying it was time for a talk. She knew that Father had said Jon was to finish his studies before he would permit them to wed. That was perfectly fine with Sansa. She would be seventeen in a couple of weeks and she had decided she could wait six months to marry. And, while she did not look forward to him returning to New Haven in a couple of weeks and remaining there until June, she would enjoy corresponding with him through the post. She was already composing the first letter in her head that would speak of her despair at his absence and her longing to see him again.

“Are you prepared for a long engagement, Sansa?” her mother asked as she took down her hair and began brushing it out while Sansa sat on her and Father’s bed. Mother’s hair was a deeper shade of red than her own and some grey was beginning to creep into it but it was still beautiful to Sansa’s eyes...and Father's.

“Yes, Mother,” she replied, picking at a loose thread on Mother’s quilt. It would need seeing to. “But June is not so far away truly.”

“June? You mean as soon as Jon graduates?” Sansa nodded and her mother sighed. “Sansa…Jon will need to find work and look towards securing a home for the two of you before you wed.”

“But Jon has already spoken with Mr. Mormont about working at his firm. Mr. Mormont has said he would be happy to take him on. And, we could live with Uncle Benjen. Jon does not wish to leave Uncle Benjen all alone.”

“You wouldn’t mind living in a cabin, darling?” she asked as she rose from her chair. She walked over to stroke Sansa’s cheek.

“No, I wouldn’t mind, Mother.” _I’d live in a cave if it meant being Jon’s wife_. She did not voice that thought though. Mother would call her very impractical for voicing such foolishness. “I could be useful to Uncle Benjen while Jon is at work. I’d cook, clean and sew for them both. I could help to see my uncle rid of his dreadful cough at last.”

Mother smiled at that but then asked hesitantly, “But…Sansa, wouldn’t you and Jon prefer to have your own place? And your uncle might not wish to house a young married couple.”

“Oh, I’m sure in time we’ll have our own home, Mother. Once Uncle Benjen is better and Jon is established at Mr. Mormont’s firm, Jon says he’ll build me a house. But, why wouldn’t Uncle Benjen want us there?”

Mother laughed and kissed the top of her head. “Oh, sweet one…it’s time we had a talk, I believe.”

Twenty minutes later, Sansa walked to her room feeling like a skittish young colt. Mother had shared a good deal of information with her and she was still trying to come to terms with it all.

Mother had spoken of the initial pain when a girl lost her maidenhood. She also spoke of a wife’s duty and a little of what to expect when a child was conceived. Those things worried her. However, learning that there could be pleasure in the act for the woman was good.

Overall though, she could not say her mother’s words had deterred her any from wishing to marry Jon. In fact, as she laid beside Arya that night, she thought over what she’d learned and decided she was more willing to experience it than to not.

She tried picturing exactly how his manhood entering her would work. She’d helped care for Rickon and Bran as babies. She knew what a naked boy looked like. She supposed those small appendages grew as a man did but how did it become stiff precisely? And once he stuck it inside of her, why did that cause him to spill his seed? Mother said it was pleasant for the man though.

Sansa had a good many questions but she’d been unable to voice them. She’d been too mortified by the conversation although she was grateful for it. She knew many girls went to the marriage bed with far less information.

Eventually, she gave up on trying to work out how all of it would go, relying on Jon to know more. Not that she thought he’d lain with any women but men were said to discuss things amongst themselves that young ladies never heard.

She rolled to her side and pictured being held in his arms, their bodies pressed together as their legs had been at church. They’d be warm beneath the covers. She remembered Mother saying that kissing was often a very pleasant part of it as well. She remembered Jon’s kiss and agreed. She yawned and then fell asleep with that idea in mind.

 

* * *

 

 

New Year’s arrived and the skies promised fresh snow by nightfall. Nan foretold a blizzard and said it was not a fit night for straying far from one’s own hearth. But Sansa’s good mood could not be diminished. Tonight would be the Tyrells’ party. She would wear her fancy new gown and dance with Jon.

The family had all come around to the notion of Jon courting Sansa though she could tell her younger brothers were not entirely sure what to think. Arya was fine with it though, saying that Jon belonged with them and she should hate for him to marry some girl in New Haven and move away. Robb and Jeyne were pleased though Robb said he would rather not think of his little sister marrying just yet.

When she came to her parents’ room in her new dress, Mother’s eyes filled with tears. She worked at arranging Sansa’s hair into an intricate braided bun and said she might wear her pearl earbobs that Father had given her. Sansa put on the earbobs and looked at her reflection. She was startled by how grown up she appeared, the most lovely and ladylike she thought she’d ever been. She hoped Jon would be pleased.

“Must I go as well?” Arya complained from the doorway. She was fifteen now and could not avoid such things forever.

“Yes, Arya. It will be good for you to go and see your friends.”

“I won’t dance,” she said stubbornly.

“No one will make you,” Mother assured her. “You can just watch.”

“You might meet a boy you like and want to dance,” Sansa offered and Arya stuck her tongue out at her.

“That’s enough, girls,” Mother chided when Sansa stuck her tongue out in return. Mother finished Sansa’s hair then and said, “There, my love. You look beautiful.”

“You do look pretty, Sansa,” Arya said.

“Thank you,” she replied. “You may wear my burgundy dress if you like, Arya. It should fit you now. I think it’d look lovely on you.”

Arya grumbled but Sansa suspected that she might be pleased if the blush on her sister’s cheeks was any indication.

Jon arrived looking terribly handsome in his black coat, crisp white shirt and dark green cravat. His eyes lit up…just as she’d hoped they would…when she glided gracefully down the stairs towards him. She wanted to race down the stairs into his arms like Arya might do but she would show him what a young lady she was.

But, as she drew nearer, a scowl appeared on his face. Her gloved hand self-consciously fluttered to her décolleté. It was nothing scandalous, not in the least, but she feared he might think her neckline too low as his eyes seemed unable to leave the parts of her shoulders, neck and chest he’d never seen when she wore her regular dresses.

She was soon relieved to learn that he was just struggling to come up with an appropriate remark.

“New dress?” he asked. She smirked at his expression of evident relief that he had managed to say something.

“I made it myself. Do you like it?”

“Yes, uh…I like the…”

“Oh, come on!” Arya huffed, thundering down the stairs and racing past them. “The sooner we go, the sooner we can return.”

“The color…the color is lovely on you. I like…green,” Jon stammered out and immediately rolled his eyes and began muttering to himself.

“Thank you,” she replied. She knew he regretted his fumbling but she did not care. His words need not be polished. The look in his eye had been enough. “You look very handsome.”

He grinned and nodded in appreciation. Perhaps her compliment spurred him on for he then said, “You’re quite clever with your needle, Miss Sansa. And, I will be the envy of every man present. You are…without question…the most beautiful girl I’ve ever clapped eyes on.”

Jon’s face was red as she murmured her thanks. He looked to see if Robb was going to laugh at him but Sansa did not mind. It was Arya that spoke anyway.

“Good gracious, Jon. You’re quite besotted,” Arya groaned from behind him.

“You look very lovely, too, Arya,” Jon said with a grin over his shoulder. “I’ll have to hold the boys back all night, no doubt.”

Her sister swatted his arm for that but said nothing more as she could not contain her smile.

Mother and Father wished the five of them a good evening and Father told Robb and Jon not to keep the ladies out too late nor to drink too much spirits. The young men nodded in acquiescence and helped the ladies into their cloaks.

 

* * *

 

 

Father had allowed them to use the coach.  Light snow was already falling, promising a thick new layer by morning. At least their feet would stay dry. Sansa had opted to wear her mother’s fancy slippers with heels instead of her boots.

She could hear the wind whistling through the window of the coach where she sat between Jeyne and Arya. Robb and Jon sat across from them. Jon was studying her from head to toe. He was trying to be discreet about it but her cheeks grew warm under his gaze. She sat there with her hands clasped together and her cloak covering most of her dress. She wondered what he found so interesting about her cloak. Perhaps there was mud on the hem. She tried listening to Jeyne’s excited prattle but she was eager to arrive herself and Jon’s staring made her flustered…but in a good way.

The coached rattled and swayed and made its steady progress towards the party. The moon was waning but still half full she noted as they arrived at last but more clouds were rolling in.

Sansa had been to the Tyrells' large home many times before but she had never seen so many candles lit at once in her entire life. The entryway and ballroom were aglow. A merry chorus of violins filled the air. Everywhere she turned, she saw the other young people of Hartford, or at least the two score of them that Loras and Margaery called their friends, all in their best clothes. It was a lovely sight.

Miss Tyrell’s dress was certainly made of silk and a lovely orchid. Sansa glanced down at her own gown and knew it could not compare no matter how hard she'd toiled over it. She nervously brushed at her skirts and fussed with her gloves.

Margaery’s chestnut brown curls were piled high upon her head with feathers and ribbons weaved throughout it. She was on the arm of Renly Baratheon who was laughing with Loras as the Starks and Jon Snow approached their hosts.

After being welcomed and giving their thanks for being invited, Robb and Jeyne went to speak with another young married couple. Arya moved off to the first stairway landing to loiter with another girl and a boy her age where they watched the ball unfold below them and would likely devote their time to eating up the Tyrell’s sweets.

Jon fetched them both some punch and they stayed along the side watching the dancers for a time.

“Miss Tyrell’s dress is very pretty,” Sansa said as Margaery glided by them.

Jon glanced Margaery’s way and shrugged. “It’s nice. I like yours better. I like the girl wearing the dress better, too,” he finished with a shy smile.

Sansa grinned into her punch as Jon stood there looking somewhat pleased with himself.

“There’s such a crush,” she said next, indicating the crowded dance floor. “I don’t see how we’ll manage a dance.”

“This is usually where I remain at a ball. This or hiding out in an empty room,” Jon chuckled. She raised her eyebrows. “I’ve attended a few in New Haven,” he admitted.

“Oh? Did you never dance there, Mr. Snow?” she asked teasingly.

“Only once and most abysmally, I fear. One of my friends from Yale introduced me to his sister and encouraged us to dance.”

Sansa struggled to maintain her countenance, not wishing to betray how the thought of this friend and his sister displeased her.

“I’m sure the young lady was pleased to claim you as a partner.” She hated how shrewish that came out.

“I don’t think so,” he said with a chagrined look. “I…I’d never danced the Allemande before and I’m sorry to say I stepped on her toes. I apologized profusely but…well, she was clearly quite cross. She refused to continue the dance.”

“Did she walk off and leave you standing there?” Sansa asked, her indignation stirred at the thoughts of any young lady treating Jon thus regardless of her toes.

“Yes, she did though I can hardly bear her any ill will for it. I suppose it must’ve hurt though I did not think my foot had landed too heavily but…well, it was embarrassing to say the least. I stayed by the wall the rest of the night.”

“I would’ve kept dancing with you,” Sansa said heatedly.

“You would?”

“Of course, I would. Mr. Hardyng crushed my toes at the harvest assembly and didn’t even apologize. I don’t think he even noticed honestly. I kept dancing. My toes were purple the next day. I would’ve certainly kept dancing with you.”

“I don’t like to think of you dancing with Mr. Hardyng,” Jon said sourly.

“Then, I never shall again,” she promised.

“I should like to dance with you, Sansa…but I fear I’m not very good at it. I would not wish to embarrass you in front of your friends.”

He wore a sweetly uncertain expression and she decided something then and there. “I don’t care about what anyone else thinks of your dancing…but come along with me. I know a place we can dance without you worrying over others.”

She led him through the crowd to the library. It was empty this early in the evening. Other couples would be stealing away as the night progressed, looking for a quiet corner for kissing, she imagined. But for now, it was just her and Jon. They left the door open and the music filtered through.

“Here?” he asked. “I shouldn’t like anyone saying unkind things about you if we were discovered alone together.”

“Are we not courting?”

“We are, Sansa…we most certainly are.”

“Then, I don’t care what others say. Dance with me, Jon.”

He was not all that accomplished at the Minuet but he tried and that was all that mattered. Sansa enjoyed those now-familiar flutters and stirrings each time the dance brought them together. He’d removed his gloves, complaining of being too warm. She longed to remove her own gloves and feel his callused hands holding her softer ones. But, she kept them on and her mind on the steps. She would not allow it to wander to more improper thoughts.

She giggled only twice at his serious expression and the way he’d bite his lip and watch their feet as they went through the steps. By their third dance, he was gaining confidence.

When the music ended for a brief moment, Jon swept her into his arms unexpectedly. His eyes roamed her face.

“Sansa…you look very beautiful tonight. Your dress…your hair…your eyes…you’re radiant.” She could only gape in response. “You’re far too lovely for me. You deserve to be the lady of grand house like this and wear silk dresses every day and…”

“I don’t care to be the lady of a grand house or wear silk dresses if it would mean marrying anyone but you. I only wish to be yours, Jon.”

He leaned his forehead against hers and she heard him sigh. “Would you permit me to kiss you now?”

“Yes.”

He moved slowly at first…and then darted forward more quickly than she’d anticipated, pressing his lips to hers with a passionate intensity that stole her breath. Highly improper thoughts blazed forth at once as he pulled her closer to him. He was so warm. She felt his rough but gentle hands stroke her expose back and shoulders.

“Your skin is so soft,” he murmured as he nuzzled into her ear.

She couldn’t reply, too shocked at his words and actions. She clutched his shoulders as her knees grew weak. She loved every moment of it though.

He kissed her once more just as the music began again.

It was then that Robb found them. He cleared his throat in a good imitation of Father and they broke apart guiltily. Her brother’s scowl was quite ruined by the smile he couldn’t hide though.

“The wind and snow have picked up. I’m sorry but I believe we should collect Arya and go,” her brother said. “Mother and Father might worry and I must think of Jeyne.”

“Of course,” Jon said, staring at his feet. “I’ll go and fetch our cloaks.”

Jon and Robb left her waiting at the edge of the ballroom. She hated to leave so soon but she had got what she wanted out of the night. Jon had seen her in her dress and they had shared a dance, more than one.

 _And so much more than just that_ , she thought wistfully.

“Good evening, Miss Stark,” a voice said in her ear.

She turned to find Joffrey Baratheon standing next to her…and reeking of spirits.

“Mr. Baratheon. How do you do?” she said with a polite but cool nod.

“Better now,” he slurred. “What a pretty frock that is,” he added with a leer as he stared at her chest.

“Thank you. Would you please excuse me? Mr. Snow is fetching my cloak and we’re about to…”

“Oh, yes…Mr. Snow. I’d heard that bastard cousin of yours was courting you. A beauty like you could do so much better.”

Sansa frowned and turned to go. No words of courtesy would she waste on a foul miscreant like him. But she found his hand wrapped tightly around her wrist, refusing her escape.

“Let go of me,” she said firmly.

He laughed, a vicious little triumph blazing in his eyes. “What if I won’t?” he taunted as he dragged her back to him, pulling her up to his chest, his drunken stench assaulting her nostrils as his worm-like lips inched closer to her own.

“Then, I’ll be forced to apologize to the Tyrells for disrupting their party after I bloody your nose and break your hand,” Jon said from behind her with a frightening calm in contrast to the fury in his eyes.

He took her by the waist with one arm as the other hand bent Joffrey’s fingers back until he yelped pitiably.

“Did he harm you?” Jon asked her tenderly as he pulled her more securely against him.

She shook her head but massaged her sore wrist rendering her denial false.

“I will thrash him soundly for daring to touch you,” he growled as he took a step towards Joffrey.

“No, Jon,” she begged as two of Joffrey’s friends dragged him bodily away whist he cursed and made a spectacle of himself. “Please, take me home and forget it.”

“I will not forget it…but I will take you home first,” he vowed.

 

* * *

 

 

Sansa sat across from Jon hoping he would not wind up dueling with Mr. Baratheon and fretting over the worsening conditions. Two miles from home the coach slid precariously along the road. Jeyne and Sansa both shrieked as it rocked to a halt and Robb knocked on the roof to alert the coachman. The men climbed down and, after some discussion, said it would be safer to walk the rest of the way home.

Sansa regretted her party slippers immensely and longed for her serviceable boots but said not a word. It would be a long, cold and uncomfortable walk.

Robb, Jon and the coachman led the horses as Sansa and Arya supported Jeyne, not wanting her to slip in her condition. She still had another three months to go before her time came.

They were all frozen to the bone when they reached the barn at last, the house looming ahead and promising warmth and dry clothes at last. Jon and Robb helped the coachman see to the horses and the ladies silently welcomed the brief respite out of the cutting wind. Sansa was shivering uncontrollably but kept pacing to fight the aching pain of her feet coming back to life. Her bonnet was soaked from the falling snow and her hair was wet and bedraggled. She was sure to look a fright.

Robb lifted his exhausted wife to carry her and urged Arya to run ahead so Mother would know they were nearly home.

Sansa leaned heavily against Jon and trudged on. He put his arm around her waist. Despite the cold, he was warm from his exertions and his hair had come loose. Her teeth were chattering and Jon frowned as he took a moment to observe her.

“Your lips are blue,” he said.

“I’m fff-fine.”

“You’re icy cold,” he huffed, rubbing at her arms beneath the cloak.

It was too true. Her cloak, though warm, could not withstand the blizzard and her dress was not remotely suitable for the weather.

“I cannot feel my fingers or toes,” she admitted. He frowned and started rubbing at her hands. He clucked his tongue and picked her up as Robb had done with Jeyne. “I ca-can wa-walk,” she protested.

“No arguments,” he said but his tone was gentle.

She said not another word in protest. She nestled into his chest, burying her face into his neck contentedly.

Sweat was running down his brow and under his collar. It would freeze upon his flesh in these conditions. He carried as though she weighed no more than a feather but he was bound to be tiring. He felt warm for now but he was as mortal as her. She could feel the wetness of his coat. His fine breeches, stockings and shoes he’d worn for the ball were likely soaked. He would start to chill as soon as he stopped moving. And he was still two miles from Uncle Benjen's cabin as the winds howled and the snow continued to fall. 

“Jon…you cannot walk home in this,” she said.

He did not reply. He only held her tighter and picked up his pace to see her safely to the house.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, we were getting to the bundling at the end of this chapter BUT I got caught up in fleshing out their courtship and taking them to the ball and then Joffrey made an appearance and we needed a good reason for bundling this early in their courtship thus it was time for the old 'snowed in' trope to appear. Sorry...not sorry. Hopefully, you'll find the bundling next chapter worth the wait *fingers crossed* and I hoped you enjoyed this one.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bundling.

 

They sat huddled together by the kitchen fire gripping the bowls of warm soup that Nan had given them. Mother had carried off their wet stockings and shoes to set on the parlor hearth whilst tutting her concerns that they’d be lucky not to lose a toe. Both had returned to the kitchen after having been sent to put on dry things, Jon having borrowed one of his uncle’s shirts and a pair of breeches.

There were blankets thrown over their shoulders, the fire popping and cracking, the only sound filling the kitchen. She watched the flames dancing, jumping and twisting in a rhythm of sorts, reminding her of the Tyrells’ ballroom filled with people. She wondered if others would have trouble making it home tonight. She said a prayer for them, wishing all safe passage through the storm. She _may_ have failed to add Joffrey’s name to her prayer.

He shifted on the bench that they shared which had been pulled in front of the hearth. His knee was touching hers. Both were pretending not to notice. There were blankets in the way. They couldn’t see what their knees touched. That was all.

“Are you warm enough?” he asked, his leg pressing against hers like at church the other day.

“I’m better than I was,” she responded.

“Your lips are no longer blue,” he said in a deep and husky tone that warmed her in a manner that had little to do with the temperature.

Her cheeks blossomed with color as she noted the way his eyes flicked down towards them…and then further down for a moment.

Sansa was wearing her night rail and woolen stockings. She was covered from head to toe and yet whenever Jon glanced her way, she would swear he could see her…all of her.

The little buds of her breasts tightened at the thought and there was that aching sensation low in her belly. An indecent thought of standing before the fire in front of him flashed through her mind and how much more he would see with her silhouetted by the fire’s light. She subconsciously shook her head to shoo the thought away like a bothersome gnat.

Sansa wished to be a good wife. She wanted to please him but she didn’t wish to shock him either. What would he think of her if he could read her mind? Would he like the nature of her thoughts or be ashamed of this less-than-ladylike side of her?

“Is something the matter?” he asked softly.

She looked up to see him watching her with concern. He had left Father’s shirt unbuttoned at the neck. His neck and a hint of his muscled chest were teasing her, making her wonder how soft that skin might feel beneath her fingertips…or her lips.

She shifted uncomfortably and looked down at the floor.

He had not donned any socks. His bare feet were on the hearth rug. Sansa felt the strangest desire to put her stockinged feet on top of them and rub against them.

Back up her eyes flew before she could do such a thing.

His hair was hanging loose, the curls were still damp and wound tight. She imagined twirling one around each finger. Her own hair was still up and a wet mess. She longed to take it down and brush it out…for him.

“I’m…I’m just…This is good soup,” Sansa commented to distract the wicked flow of her thoughts.

“Nan’s always made the best,” Jon said with a dear, sweet grin.

They spoke quietly together about Nan’s soup and other things from their childhood. Sansa felt more like herself when her parents and Arya rejoined them.

“Jon, you must stay here tonight,” Father said. “The conditions are already dangerous enough. I’ll hear no stubborn refusals this time either.”

“Yes, Uncle Ned,” Jon agreed at once. He had no desire to venture back out into the storm.

“Where’s Jon going to sleep, Father?” Arya asked.

Her cheeks were still rosy from the cold but she was already dry with her hair braided for bed. Robb had taken Jeyne straight up when they’d arrived at home.

Mother and Father looked at each other and then at the pair of them. Sansa felt a nervous excitement at the thoughts of Jon staying the night but Arya had asked a good question. Winterfell only had five bedrooms; Mother and Father’s room, Robb and Jeyne’s, the room Sansa and Arya shared, the one shared by Bran and Rickon and then Nan’s quarters.

Jon said he could sleep on the parlor settee but Mother had another suggestion.

“Arya, you will sleep with Nan. I can fetch the bundling sack,” she said decidedly.

“Are you certain, Cat?” Father asked with an uneasy look.

“Yes, Ned. They are courting. My parents allowed it for us,” she added with smile that Sansa thought was just for him.

Father closed his mouth and his fists clenched and unclenched at his side. But then he nodded and said no more. Jon became very interested in studying his empty soup bowl as Sansa gaped at her parents.

“Sansa, come with me. Jon…your uncle may have a few words for you,” Mother said, giving Father a look whilst she gestured towards Jon.

“But where is Jon going to sleep? And why should I sleep with Nan instead of Sansa?” Arya asked plaintively.

“It’s late so to bed with you, Miss,” Mother said though she stroked her younger daughter’s cheek fondly and kissed the top of her head.

Sansa fidgeted with her night rail as she followed her mother to her room. Mother knelt before the trunk that sat at the foot of her parents’ bed. She watched as her mother sorted through it, pulling out swaddling clothes and old dresses and such before she found what she was looking for. She handed it to Sansa.

“Mother…” she breathed, her heart pounding.

Mother cocked her head to the side and put her hand upon Sansa’s arm. “Would you rather not, darling? If so, he may sleep on the settee.”

“I…” She stroked the soft ivory wool. There was embroidery all along the edge, blue fishes and black birds. “What is all this?”

“It’s the bundling sack my parents used when they were courting. After they were wed, your Grandmother Minisa would practice her embroidery on it for her own amusement before she passed it on to me.”

“And you’ve done the same?” Sansa asked as she traced a large grey wolf with her finger.

“Yes. Now, it can be yours. But only if you wish. You certainly don’t have to.”

“No…I want to, Mother.”

 

* * *

 

 

The tradition of bundling for courting couples had been around for generations. There were theologians that condemned the practice of it; some calling it an antiquated and superstitious rite while others argued that it promoted promiscuity amongst young people.

There were folks that would argue that a girl was far more likely to be got with child in the hayloft than during a bundling. And at least if a girl that had had a bundling with her acknowledged suitor became pregnant, there was little room for the boy to claim he’d had nothing to do with it.

Regardless, the Tullys and Whents had been amongst some of the earliest settlers of the Pennsylvania colony and adhered to bundling as a means of encouraging intimacy during courtship without sexual intercourse.

Her mother’s grandparents had later migrated to Connecticut for reasons of their own but brought their beliefs and traditions with them.

Thus, when Miss Catelyn Tully had been courted by Mr. Eddard Stark on the eve of the Revolutionary War, they had shared a bed in this fashion. And now their daughter would do the same with her suitor.

Perhaps it was coming about sooner than planned. Certainly in the eyes of Ned Stark it was. But, the blizzard had necessitated Jon staying the night. It was merely practical under the circumstances.

Mother took the sack back and told her to go to Nan who helped Sansa take her hair down. Arya sat on Nan’s bed and peppered her with several embarrassing questions. Sansa knew her sister did not mean to be bothersome. She was merely curious.

“Hush, child,” Nan chided at last. “Your sister is already nervous enough without you prattling on.”

Arya bit her lip but it was plain she wanted to ask more. Sansa suspected she’d be asked plenty tomorrow night when they returned to their normal sleeping arrangements.

Sansa’s hair hung about her shoulders in crimson waves from where it’d been in braids most of the night. Nan worked her brush through any snarls with loving care, humming a hymn under her breath. The humming made her think of Robb and Jeyne. She hoped she and Jon would not be listening to that. Would he think her ridiculous with her humming if it happened? Sansa gazed at her reflection in Nan’s small mirror, her brow was creased with worry at the thought.

“You’ll be fine, my angel,” Nan said with a squeeze of her shoulder.

She nodded and bid them good night before walking upstairs in a daze, feeling that none of this seemed quite real.

Jon had shed the shirt and breeches for a spare night shirt. He was already in the sack and lying on her bed when Sansa came in. Mother was seated beside him on the bed busily sewing up the sack to his neck as Father stood nearby, looking rather lost.

“Is it too tight, Jon?” Mother asked as she worked near his neck. The sack itself was roomy.

“No, Aunt Catelyn. It’s fine,” he said with a bashful smile her way.

“Is it tight enough would be a better question,” Father said, making his wife laugh and causing both sweethearts to blush.

Sansa held her head high as she walked in and took a seat on Arya’s side of the bed. She grew impatient for her parents to leave them despite her nerves. Their presence seemed to make this stranger.

“Are you comfortable?” she asked Jon.

“I’m perfectly fine.”

“And are you warm enough?”

“Yes,” he said, his eyes flitting between her and her parents anxiously.

_He is nervous, too…perhaps more nervous than me. And why shouldn’t he be? Father looms over the bed looking stern and he’s courted no other girls just as you’ve had no other suitors._

She wished to put him at ease. So, she spoke of the ball and the people there and Arya and her friends eating grapes and then the trek through the snow. She did not mention Joffrey’s behavior but told her Mother how Jon had danced the Minuet with her.

“Not once did he trod upon my toes though he was worried about it,” she said proudly.

He grinned, more at ease at last as Mother finished her stitches.

“There, all done,” Mother said, patting her nephew’s shoulder and smiling at him. “I hope you both sleep well and we’ll see you in the morning.” She stood, taking one of the lanterns with her but leaving the bedside lantern that was always there behind. “Come along, Ned,” she urged as Father seemed keen to linger.

“Uh…ah-alright,” he muttered, slowly leaving the room with a final glance at them.

Mother waved and closed the door behind her.

“Alone at last,” Jon snickered.

“Yes,” she laughed in response.

“Care to join me under the quilts, Miss Sansa?” he asked with a wink. “It’s warm.”

“Gladly, Mr. Snow,” she replied as a giddy excitement at the thoughts of this new experience took over.

 

* * *

 

 

The lantern on the bedside table flickered from time to time and Sansa could hear the howl of the wind through the window, like a lone wolf calling for his pack. But here in her room, when she rolled to her side, there was Jon beside her beneath the quilts. She was warm and little by little growing more comfortable.

His dark grey eyes were shining in the lantern light and there was a shy smile on his face. Her heart skipped a beat. She had already told him she loved him but there was no room for any lingering doubt now. She loved him with all her heart and would for all her days upon God’s good earth.

He was flat on his back but he had had his head turned her way since she’d laid down.

“Are you going to stare at me all night or shall we talk?”

“Both,” he replied, making her smile. “I will stare at you all night and we shall talk, too.”

She nestled an arm under her pillow and wasn’t sure what to do with her free hand. She wished to touch him; his face, his chest, his hand.

As though he could read her mind, he said, “I wish that I could touch you.” His cheeks grew pink and he amended his statement. “Not in a…well, I just wish that I could hold your hand or…”

He trailed off and turned to stare at the ceiling. She wanted to know what he wished for.

“Go on…what else would you wish?” she asked.

“I wish I could touch your hair,” he admitted. “Perhaps you think that ridiculous but…”

“Not ridiculous at all,” she said, her hand automatically reaching out to lay upon his chest without a second thought. “I was thinking much the same.”

“You’d want to touch my hair?” he asked with a playful grin.

“Yes, I would,” she said in a tone of mock indignation. “I like your hair. Are you going to make me feel ridiculous about it?”

“No…not at all,” he said with an abashed expression. “What else?” he prompted.

“I’d touch your face…I’d hold your hand if I could.”

“You are welcome to touch me as you please, Sansa,” he said gruffly.

She grinned and reached out hesitantly to cup his cheek. Her fingers glided along his beard. Bristly but soft enough to not be terribly scratchy, she stroked it and then enjoyed the contrast when she traced her fingers along his soft cheek.

His eyes closed and she felt him expel his hot breath over her wrist. She leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips when he wasn’t looking. His dark eyes fluttered open and he gasped in surprise.

“Kiss me again,” he begged.

She did. Soft and slow this kiss was. Jon shift awkwardly to his side and angled his head to slot his mouth against hers. She felt his tongue sweep across her lips, pleading for entrance. Instinct had her lips parting in surrender. She’d never experienced this sort of kissing. He pushed his tongue inside her mouth. It was hot and wet and tasted of Nan’s soup and a bit of the party punch. It was rather shocking. Yet, every sweep of his tongue felt right and stirred that longing that he alone awoke within her.

She pulled back first, her eyes searching his that were black as sin as he panted. He groaned pitifully and rolled fully to his back again.

“That was new,” she said breathily.

“Aye.”

“I liked it.”

“I’m glad,” he sighed and shut his eyes as though he was trying to compose himself.

“Did you not like it?” she asked, mistaking his expression.

“Sansa,” he chuckled. “I loved it.”

“Have you ever kissed a girl like that before?” she asked next, suddenly worried that Jon knew so much more than her and wondering what he might have done that she hadn’t.

“No, Sansa. I told you I’ve never courted anyone but you.”

“Courting and kissing are not the same thing, Jon Snow,” she said sagely.

“You’re right,” he nodded. “But I’ve never kissed any girl…nor lain beside one either…there’s been no one before you, alright?”

“Alright,” she said very pleased by that answer and the honesty in this eyes.

She scooted closer to him, laying her arm across his chest and nestling against his neck. Her lips were so close. She could not resist pressing a light kiss under his whiskers.

“Is it wicked that I’m enjoying this?” she asked.

“No, my darling girl. It’s perfectly natural.”

“Would Reverend Chayle think so?” she teased.

“I don’t know his views on bundling. Shall I ask him during services on Sunday?” he asked with a wry look.

Her cheeks flushed in mortification and she started to say he most certainly should not until he laughed. She gave him a shove and laughed, too. Their laughter died down and he looked at her more seriously.

“I wish that I could hold you,” he whispered.

“I want that, too,” she whispered back.

Oh, she wanted that, too. So much. Hadn’t she dreamed of it the other night? What would it be like to be held in Jon’s arm just like earlier when he’d carried her through the snow? Except now, they would not be out in the freezing cold. They would be warm, snuggled together beneath her quilts and holding each other lovingly. She imagined his strong arms wrapped securely about her and she knew she wanted that more than anything she’d ever wanted.

“Hold on,” she said as she sprang from the bed and fetched her sewing kit. She was grinning excitedly as she pulled out her shears.

Jon’s eyes widened. “Sansa…no. We mustn’t. Your parents will…”

“…never know.”

“But…if they…what would Uncle Ned think? I couldn’t.”

“You couldn’t just hold me?” she asked with a keen disappointment as a childish lump formed in her throat.

He swallowed hard, his own throat bobbing with the effort. “I promised Uncle Ned I wouldn’t…” He looked around uncomfortably before finishing. “I promised I wouldn’t leave this sack. And, I know you’re only suggesting that I hold you but I wouldn’t wish to offend you.”

“How would you offend me?”

“With my body, uh…if I held you and…became…” he muttered helplessly.

“You mean if your manhood grows stiff?” His eyes grew even wider and his eyebrows disappeared into his hair. She laughed. “I know some things,” she said with a touch of pride. “I wouldn’t be offended to learn that you…desire me, Jon. You do desire me, don’t you?”

“Very much,” he choked out.

“So…will you permit me?” she asked pointing towards the sack. “I am clever with my needle as you said. I can sew it back later. You will stay in your sack. Only your arms will be free. Mother and Father will never know.”

He gave her a devilish smirk and nodded. It was nearly enough to cause her hands to shake as she cut through the thread.

 

* * *

 

 

“This is better,” she sighed.

Jon murmured an agreement with his nose buried in her hair as he wrapped his arms around her tighter. The bundling sack had been pushed down to his waist. He was still in it. That counted as far as Sansa was concerned.

They faced one another for a long time, touching each other’s faces and hands and hair. His hair was dry now and so very soft. His hands were callused but she loved the feel of them.

It was a quiet and blissful exploration and Sansa was grateful for the blizzard yet again. Her lips tingled when he lightly traced them with his forefinger. He surged forward into her touch when she ran her hands across his chest. She delicately traced that bit of flesh that was exposed near the neck as his hand rubbed her shoulder and down her arm.

And, they kissed. They kissed and kissed and kissed. Sometimes, the kisses were no more than pecks. Others…they were deep and passionate with his tongue chasing her own. They left her head spinning and both of them breathless.

But, as they kissed, the ache within her grew unbearable. Something primal inside her needed to be closer to him. She pressed herself more fully against him. He immediately clutched her waist and brought her closer still. She felt something hard between them, poking at her lower belly.

His manhood had grown stiff with desire…just as Mother had explained. It made more sense now. The bundling sack and their night clothes were a barrier but not enough of one to conceal how much larger he must be than what she’d imagined in her innocence.

 _No wonder Mother said it hurts the first time_.

“Sorry,” he said as he shifted his hips back.

“No…don’t,” she said. She wanted him to stay.

He started to let go of her and roll away. She was having none of that. Sansa grasped his hand that was at her hip now and pulled him closer. She ached. It nearly hurt she ached so badly. Something made her think that his closeness would bring some relief. Surely, there was something that could dull this aching need. Mother had spoken of pleasure in coupling but could there be pleasure in just holding each other close as well?

“Oh, Sansa…” he cried when she pressed herself against his body again. With his shifting around she found him lower now, closer to the apex between her thighs. “You must stop, my sweet girl.”

“Please, Jon…I want to feel you close to me.”

"You do?" he asked.

"Yes...please."

He made no further arguments. A rumbling growl could be heard as he kissed her, a hungry, desperate thing. His tongue glided inside her mouth with familiarity now. She moaned in response and kissed him back.

Swift like a forest creature, he lifted himself to one elbow and rolled her to her back. He covered her body with his own, his weight a pleasant burden to bear as he kept kissing her. She felt his arms snake under her back as he held her to him. She would most certainly faint at any moment…only she didn’t.

It was hot beneath the quilts now…too hot for comfort. She untied the laces of her night rail near her neck, exposing a good six inches of her chest at least. Jon stared at her pale skin before he rocked his hips into her. They both groaned with pleasure. His hardness was separated by layers of cloth but the pressure to her womanhood was exquisite and everything she’d been aching for earlier.

“Christ…you’re so beautiful,” he murmured before dipping his chin and kissing the exposed area of her neck and chest.

Her breasts felt heavy and she arched her back into his chest. A large, warm hand came up and cupped one. He hummed into her throat as she gasped and wantonly begged for more.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered.

He squeezed her gently and then whimpered when she spread her legs beneath him, encouraging him to continue the motions of his hips. Through her night rail, she could feel his thumb swipe over her teat, transforming both into little tight pebbles. She whined and mewled into his neck as he thrusted against her.

The bed creaked beneath them. She thought of Robb and Jeyne in the next room and worried they would hear.

Then, Jon kissed her throat, the raw rasp of his beard on her tender skin a delight. He nuzzled behind her ear, tickling her and making her squirm. Her squirming elicited more moans from Jon. He kissed her mouth again, ravenously with lips, teeth and tongue.

Robb and Jeyne could hum for all she cared. She told herself they were fast asleep and thought no more of them.

A final graze of his hand on her nipple, a hungry kiss and one more thrust of his hard length against her center…and then there was nothing.

A flashing light behind her eyelids, a buzzing sound in her ears and she could vaguely hear the soft cry that fell from her lips and she was falling, falling, falling. He’d pushed her over some cliff and she welcomed the fall.  Every nerve tingled with pleasure and she felt weightless, boneless and dazed.

She smiled when he grunted and stilled his movements at last. His face looked beatific in that moment, pure rapturous joy etched on his handsome features. She loved it, perhaps as much as the pleasure he had given her.

She was breathless as he collapsed, shuddering on top of her. He pulled back quickly, his face pinched.

“Sansa…I…ah, hell,” he swore.

Ordinarily, she might have pursed her lips at that language but she could hardly chastise him for it after what she’d just experienced.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I’m…I spilled…my seed.”

She felt slick between her legs and understood enough to realize he’d be wetter than her.

“I’ll fetch you a cloth,” she offered.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, obviously embarrassed.

He wiped himself dry beneath the covers and sack once she handed it to him. She was curious about what he looked like down there just as he was surely eager to see her unclothed. But it could wait. She turned her head until he was finished.

They would marry in June and then no sack would be necessary. And Jon could hold her in his arms every night.

 _But we are not married yet_ , her conscience nagged.

“Jon…I know you couldn’t get me with child…not like that. But…was it very wrong of us?”

“Well, I won’t be discussing it with Reverend Chayle,” he snickered quietly, “or your father…or your brother. But I don’t think it was wrong, Sansa. We love each other.”

“Yes, we do,” she sighed and decided to worry over it no more. “What do they call that?” she asked.

“I don’t know a name for it…no proper name anyway.”

She nodded, not wishing to press him for improper names.

He kissed her brow as she yawned. She felt so sleepy now and his eyelids were growing heavy. His lips were swollen from their kisses. Hers likely were, too. She wished this night didn’t have to end. She stifled another yawn and Jon said they should rest.

“Should you sew me back up?” he asked. She could tell by his tone he didn’t wish for that. Neither did she.

“I usually wake early. It would take me no more than two minutes to sew the sack. We have time,” she decided.

“Sansa…will you say you’ll marry me?” He asked so sweetly. He pressed a kiss to her palm. She certainly had no intention of refusing.

“I’ll marry you,” she vowed.

They grinned at one another and shared another kiss…or a dozen before she rolled to face the other way.

Jon moved closer and whispered, “May I hold you while you sleep?”

“Please,” she nodded.

Soon, his body was molded around her own, his strong arms holding her against his chest. The icy cold winds of earlier were a distant memory. Here, she was safe, secure and loved. She fell asleep with him whispering in her ear that he meant to stare at her all night. There was surely a smile upon her face as she slept.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *peeks from behind hands* Whew! I struggled to get this how I wanted it. I really wanted to achieve a nice balance of their innocence and sexy times. I hope that was alright! 
> 
> The conclusion will be an epilogue giving a bit of the rest of their courtship and early marriage before I return Sansa to the 'present' with her grandchildren and an older Jon.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the bundling, Jon returns to college, their wedding and bedding, a peek at Jon and Sansa's young married life and the epilogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah...so I had to up the rating at last. *shuffles feet* Hope you don't mind.

 

When Father opened her bedroom door unexpectedly early the next morning, he beheld the pair of them innocently sleeping on their own sides of the bed with Jon still in his sack.

In truth, they were both feigning sleep as Sansa had just finished stitching the bundling sack back up when she heard her father’s heavy footsteps on the floorboards in the hall. Her scissors, needle and thread had been hastily tucked beneath her pillow. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly and fervently prayed Father would not find it amiss that her sewing kit was on the bedside table.

But for all his wisdom, Ned Stark took little note of sewing kits and soon quietly closed the door again.

They both expelled a breath and spent the next ten minutes shushing one another as they struggled to suppress a fit of giggles.

Sansa rose to tuck the scissors, thread and kit away knowing if her mother saw them, she would not be fooled for a moment. She climbed back into bed, leaning over him to stroke his beard and kiss him on the mouth. She’d become quite accustomed to their kisses during the night. It was a shame she’d have to revert to what was proper courting behavior for a young lady when they left her room again.

“I love you, Jon,” she said, laying her head upon his chest and listening to the steady pounding of his heart. It thrilled her when she felt it pick up its pace at her words and her nearness.

“I love you, my darling girl,” he replied, tilting forward enough to kiss the top of her head.

“I’m going to miss you terribly when you return to New Haven.”

“I’ll miss you, too,” he said softly as more footsteps were heard in the hall.

Sansa sat up as though she were just ready to rise when Arya bounded in to say Nan was making breakfast and Robb guessed there was nearly two feet of new snow.

Mother entered behind her, carrying her own sewing kit and, after wishing them good morning, sat on the edge of the bed beside her nephew and began to unstitch her handiwork…or Sansa’s handiwork in this case. She said not a word but did eye them both rather closely. She appeared to be fighting the urge to grin. But perhaps Sansa imagined that.

 

* * *

 

 

Jon returned to Yale the following week and Sansa was quite disconsolate. Mother allowed her two days of moping about the house before she took her aside and chastised her for such foolish pining. He was to return in June after all.

“Think of how it would be if he’d left for war, Sansa. Imagine if you knew not when or if he would ever return. It is only college. He’ll return in summer and you will wed,” she said, her brisk tone belied by the gentle way she stroked Sansa’s hair and the tender way she held her whilst she wept her girlish tears.

Sansa wiped her face and nodded. She knew her mother had faced a far more uncertain time waiting for her father to return from the war.

“Come now. Nan is making you a tart out of the lemon preserves for your birthday. Let us go and help, alright?”

“Yes, Mother,” she said, rising to her feet at once.

She was a young lady and soon she’d be a wife. She would not disappoint her mother by acting like such a child again.

 

So, the winter passed with letters in the post which always brought a smile to her face and the writing of many letters in return.

His words, which were often stilted in person, flowed from his pen readily enough as he spoke of his longing for her. He wrote of his dreams of a house and garden where they’d grow corn, squash and cabbages. He promised to plant a rose bush for her if she liked. And his wish for children…he even wrote of that causing Sansa’s tummy to flip and flop about with pleasure and nerves combined.

 

In early April, Jeyne gave birth to a healthy boy and the household was busy with a newborn to care for and dote upon. Poor Bran and Rickon felt neglected and ignored in the presence of this squalling interloper. Young Eddard had his father’s dark auburn hair and blue eyes. He was quite the handsomest of babies it was decided by the female inhabitants of the house. She wrote to Jon of her nephew, hinting that she was becoming proficient at caring for him.

 

The days wore on and Sansa picked the first flowers of spring with a song in her heart and longed for summer to arrive.

 

Sansa spent her time between Winterfell and Uncle Benjen’s cabin, assisting her uncle in anyway a young lady could. She made him a new quilt for his bed and decent curtains for the cabin windows. She also found some heavier fabric to make curtains to hang in the doorways of the bedrooms for privacy. She made another quilt for her and Jon to share as well.

She helped Nan with the cooking and took meals to Benjen two or three times a week. She would sit by the hearth of the cabin darning his stockings and talking of the baby as her uncle ate with gusto. He spoke quietly of his hunting and trapping and slowly grew used to female companionship, she hoped.

He asked if she’d trim his hair and he trapped some beaver, saying she might make a fine pelisse for herself for winter with their fur. She thanked him prettily and told him it would rival anything even Miss Tyrell might own.

And as his smiles grew broader each time he saw her walking up his path, she was glad for the closeness that began to grow between them. It would make things simpler come June.

 

* * *

 

 

In mid-June, Jon returned having graduated at long last. The coach that brought him from New Haven dropped its passengers in town and his very first act was the walk to Winterfell as the late afternoon sun began to sink behind the trees.

He was dusty and rumpled from the road but, when Sansa spied him at the gatepost from the window where she’d been sewing and keeping watch, she gave a strangled cry and threw down her work, flying to the door to greet him.

He’d ducked ‘round the side of the house to the pump to wash up before coming to the door but Sansa did not care to wait any longer. His hands and face were dripping when she flung herself into his arms, overjoyed.

“Sansa,” he gasped as he embraced her tightly, “I’ll get you all wet.”

“I don’t care,” she laughed. “You’re here.  No one will see us here,” she whispered shyly. 

And when he set her back down and tilted her chin up to kiss her, it was clear that he did not care to wait till he’d dried off to kiss her either.

 

Ten days later, they stood before Reverend Chayle with the family and a few friends in attendance. Sansa wore her blue dress and Jon his best coat and cravat.

Mother cried but gave her a radiant smile as Father clutched her hand tightly and escorted her to Jon. There were tears in his eyes but he stoically put her hand in Jon’s before going to stand beside his wife.

Uncle Benjen stood beside Jon who was looking a touch pale but happy nonetheless. When their eyes met though, he smiled, the soft, shy smile she knew so well by now.

Sansa dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief that Arya had spent many an hour embroidering with a simple blue flower and the letter S. She loved it all the more as her sister had worked hard at something which she did not excel at just to give her a gift.

She passed her bouquet of summer wildflowers to her sister before together they clasped hands and turned towards the reverend to take their vows.

 

After the wedding breakfast at Winterfell, they walked hand in hand through the green forest to the cabin they would call home together for the foreseeable future. Uncle Benjen had announced during breakfast his intention to call on an old friend who lived alone further in the woods and said he’d see them in a couple of days. They both ducked their heads to hide their embarrassment at his words as he spoke them in front of everyone but were very grateful for his thoughtfulness.

When they arrived at the cabin, Jon scooped Sansa up in his arms to carry her indoors as he had New Year’s night during the blizzard before their bundling. But instead of swirling snowflakes and howling winds, the mild summer breeze and the song of crickets chirping filled the air around them. Sansa’s cheeks were crimson and her tummy was fluttering worse than ever as he carried her inside. But her nerves did not stop the eagerness of youth as their lips met hungrily the moment he set her down again and bolted the door.

Jon kissed his bride passionately, leaving her dizzy and breathless. He stroked her cheek, asking if she were ready or not and then promising to be gentle when she nodded and said she was.

Perhaps it would’ve been more proper for her to go into the bedroom and change into the night rail Mother and Jeyne had brought over with her things before the wedding that morning. But, how often would they have this opportunity to enjoy the cabin all alone for any length of time? And she wished to see him just as she knew he wished to see her.

Jon asked if she’d take her hair down as he sat upon the bed, having removed his coat and cravat and boots. She pulled out the pins one by one and let her mane fall down her back and then brushed it slowly. She counted to one hundred, enjoying the fire burning in Jon’s eyes as he watched her, restless and impatient one moment and then seemingly transfixed and content the next.

She rose at last and turned, asking him to help her with her dress. His fingers fumbled clumsily and she could certainly have done it herself far faster but she wanted to give him this. She could tell by the way his breath hitched that she’d made a good decision.

He lovingly kissed the back her neck, sweeping her hair out of the way, as he worked the buttons loose and, with every fresh inch of skin unveiled she could hear a rumbling sound growing in his chest; half whimper and half growl.

Her dress fell to the floor followed by her shift and she soon stood unclothed before him. The reverence in his eyes as he drank in her smooth skin and womanly curves convinced her that she would be completely bare for him whenever possible.

She instinctively covered her mound with her hands but it seemed only to inflame him more. His hands were warm as they carefully grasped her shoulders and traced her collar bone before he dared cup one of her bare breasts. He gulped and could not look away. She swayed into his touch, allowing her eyes to flutter closed. He kissed her, the scrape of his beard not at all unpleasant as it rasped along her jaw and throat as his kisses trailed their way toward her breasts.

She was shocked by the flick of his tongue at her nipple. She had not imagined such a thing. A woman’s breasts were for nursing babies, not pleasure, she had thought. But the tingling in her loins suggested otherwise as his lips closed over her teat and began to lightly suckle.

She gasped at her own wantonness, her eyes flying open, as she stepped back. His lips were moist and there was a smoldering look in his eyes that faded when his head popped back up in alarm at her actions.

“Oh, God! Sansa, I’m so sorry!” he cried. “I didn’t…”

“No…it’s alright,” she said though she shyly folded her arms over her chest. “It was just unexpected. I liked it. I’m…may I see you, too?” she asked demurely to ease the sudden awkwardness.

He grinned and swiftly tugged his shirt over his head. His arms and shoulders and chest were corded with muscle. He may have studied at Yale but he was not an idle sort of man and he’d worked hard most of his life whenever there was work to be down.

She lightly touched the springy curls upon his chest. He sucked in a deep breath as though he were bracing himself for something when she glided her hands downward to the hair beneath his navel that disappeared into his breeches. She settled her hands at his waist. She felt his hands mimic her actions. He pulled her closer and grasped her bottom with a low moan.

“So soft. So sweet,” he murmured, his forehead resting on her shoulder.

She could feel his hardness poking against her belly through his breeches.

“Jon…I’m ready,” she whispered.

From that point, things moved along more quickly. He urged her to lie back on the bed and divested himself of his breeches and under things. Despite her words, Sansa stared in trepidation at his stiff manhood that jutted out towards her from a nest of dark hair.

“It’s awfully large,” she gulped without meaning to speak.

He blushed and promised again to be gentle and go slow. He climbed over her body and kissed her, those deep kisses where his tongue wrestled with her own, awaking desire low in her belly. His length was hot on her belly but, just like the night of their bundling, he did not enter her. He merely kissed her and slowly worked his hips to move against her.

Again, she felt that same amazing sensation as before as he rubbed himself along her womanly place. She spread her legs beneath him, longing to bring him closer. The nerves and tension from earlier disappeared for this was not frightening even though there was no cloth between them now.

She felt a different variety of tension coiling up though, that familiar aching need. She hoped for sweet relief.

Jon’s brow grew slick with sweat on the summer afternoon as his hips moved slowly. He looked nearly desperate.

“Go ahead,” she urged. “I’m perfectly fine.”

He nodded with a relieved sigh and she felt him rub the head of his shaft between her legs. It was quite damp down there now. She wondered if she should feel ashamed by that…but she didn’t. It was utterly delightful.

Jon’s face was strained from concentrating on something but Sansa felt relaxed. For a moment, she thought her mother must’ve been mistaken for this did not hurt one bit.

But then he pushed forward and she chided herself for doubting Mother’s words.

She bit her lip. He moved further and she whimpered and turned her head into the pillow.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, kissing her cheek. He ceased his slow and steady movement. “Should I stop?” he asked.

She shook her head. The stinging pain was already fading as a tear rolled down the side of her nose. The pain was tolerable when she faced him again. He was still poised above her, looking frightened and tormented.

“It’s alright now,” she promised.

He said the sweetest things as he began to move again, inching the rest of the way in, filling her completely. He started thrusting steadily, a rhythm she soon became accustomed to. He breathed into her hair and said some things that were rather indecent though she did not mind.

As he continued moving and the last of the initial sting faded, it felt rather nice. She focused on grasping his strong shoulders and enjoying the smoothness of his skin under her fingers. She watched his face, the determined look and then the blissful blankness that followed as his hips lost their rhythm.

He rocked to a sudden stop, his face red as he grunted her name and shuddered. He braced himself on his forearms so as not to crush her but leaned forward to rest his forehead to hers. She stroked his hair and told him she loved him as his breathing slowed.

“Was it awful?” he asked meekly as she wiped away her blood and his seed with a cloth.

“No,” she answered. “It wasn’t awful at all. Can you hold me now?”

“Of course, my sweet wife,” he said, wrapping her up in his arms and holding her close.

 

* * *

 

 

Just as Mother had promised, the first time had hurt but it wasn’t so bad. Jon was hesitant to push her for more but Sansa was willing to try again by nightfall.

When they did, she found herself on the brink of that same pleasure she’d known the night of their bundling. She did not quite reach it before Jon found his release leaving her so frustratingly close she could almost cry. He understood enough to know he’d peaked too soon and denied her. He promised he’d get better. He did.

The very next morning she moaned and cried his name when she fell from that dizzying peak and was left floating in a haze. His eyes were wide with wonder as he stared down at her face.

“That was…you enjoyed that, didn’t you?” he asked.

“I did,” she sighed. “Wait…how did you…”

“I felt it,” he mumbled, blushing bright red.

“You felt it?”

“Aye. I could feel you…you were tighter around me and it was like a throbbing…”

“You shouldn’t speak of such things!” she gasped, mortified beyond belief. “It’s not proper!”

He chuckled and kissed her nose. “I loved it…and I think you did, too.” She huffed and he laughed harder. “I’m a wicked man who enjoys bringing his wife pleasure. I loved you calling my name and your moan and…”

“Jon Snow!” she said in horror. “If you don’t stop…”

He leaned forward and kissed her, stopping her flow of words. He was still inside her and he moved, setting off a spark of desire again and making her moan against her will.

“I want it to be like that every time,” he rasped.

And most of the time, it was.

 

As they grew more confident and learned new things over the first couple of months of their marriage, Sansa stopped worrying over what was proper to say and what was not…at least in their bedroom.

Very few nights passed where they did not couple beneath the quilt she’d made them. Oftentimes, they wore their night things and only pushed them up to their hips. They’d stifled their moans but the bed creaked loudly. It did not stop them any. Sansa was just grateful when Jon assured her Uncle Benjen’s hearing was not what it once was.

As summer faded into fall, Uncle Benjen took to spending odd evenings with an acquaintance, leaving them alone for hours after Jon came home from work. Jon whispered that his acquaintance was a widow woman that their uncle had been friendly with for many years. Sansa hoped they made each other happy and perhaps her uncle would finally marry someday if the lady was agreeable to it.

After supper on those nights when they were alone, Sansa would come to him by the hearth, wearing nothing at all. Jon would pull her into his lap, softly caressing her bare flesh. She’d watch the flames dance in her husband’s eyes until he could stand no more and carried her to their bed, urging her to cry out as he brought her pleasure in every way he could.

 

When winter came again, Sansa asked her mother for the bundling sack and she amused herself with embroidery when she had free time by the fire at night. She felt poorly and tired much of the time during the winter days and Jon fretted over her…but Sansa wore a contented smile.

When her belly started to swell and she had to alter her green ball gown to wear it to the spring assembly, Jon swelled with pride and began to build her a house.

They moved into their finished home shortly before a son was born in early autumn. They named him Jon.

 

* * *

 

 

Swifter than she would’ve believed, forty-three years passed.

Sansa gave Jon four children that lived to adulthood and one that did not. Life could be cruel. They knew it well but their blessings were many and they never lost sight of that or the love they bore one another.

In time, they buried her father, their uncle and his wife and eventually her mother. Such was the way of life. But they had four children and seven grandchildren so far. The youngest two sat at her feet now.

“Grandmother,” Lyanna said, gently nudging her hand.

Sansa blinked and brought a hand to her heated cheek. “Oh, goodness. I’m afraid I became lost in my thoughts again.”

Her grandchildren smiled up at her as Sansa tucked her memories back into her heart. There were things for children to hear and there were things that were not fit for their ears after all.

“Where was I?” she asked.

“Grandfather Jon had carried you through the snow though you were both nearly frozen to death,” Benjen said eagerly.

“After he’d danced with you at the ball,” Lyanna sighed and stood to twirl about the room while her brother rolled his eyes.

“Oh, yes,” Sansa said. “It was quite an evening. Well, with the blizzard, my father said your grandfather should spend the night and so he did,” she finished as she made to pick up her sewing again, hiding her grin as she knew Lyanna wouldn’t let her stop there.

Her granddaughter ceased her twirling and tromped back over and collapsed at her feet. “But, Grandmother…you were going to tell us about bundling,” she prompted.

“Was I? Oh, that’s right…I was. Well, let’s see,” she said with a warm smile. “When I was a girl and a young man courted you, it was generally expected that you would wed. So, once you’d been courting for a time, the young man would be invited to spend the night at your parents’ home…as a means of seeing if you’d be compatible for, um…living together till death do you part, you see?” The children nodded. “But for the sake of propriety, the young man would sleep inside a sack so there was no question of anything infelicitous occurring.”

“He slept in your bed?” Lyanna asked with a puzzled expression.

“What does infe… _that_ word mean?” Benjen asked, talking over his sister.

“It means untoward,” Lyanna said haughtily.

“Yes,” Sansa smirked, proud of her bright granddaughter despite hoping to evade any sticky questions. Both children opened their mouths to speak but Sansa cut them off. “Did you look at the embroidery on the sack? Your great-grandmother did the black birds and fishes.”

“I like the wolf bit,” Benjen said, admiring the grey wolf.

“Oh, yes,” Sansa exclaimed, stroking her dear grandson’s cheek. “I like it, too. My mother did that.”

“What did you do, Grandmother?” Lyanna asked, thankfully diverted from other questions.

“The snowflakes, child…and the roses,” she sighed, looking out the window where her rose bushes that Jon had planted for her long ago might flower when summer returned.

“They’re very pretty. But who did all the rest?”

“Your aunts and Great-Aunt Arya even tried her hand at this stag,” Sansa smiled, thinking of her beloved daughters and sister.

“Did they all have a bundling?”

“Oh, no,” Sansa laughed. “My sister chose not to and…well, it had fallen out of favor by the time your aunts had suitors.” _Much to your grandfather’s relief_. “Maybe you’d like to learn to embroider on it, too,” she told Lyanna.

“Oh, yes! I’d love that. And, I can’t wait till I’m old enough to be courted by a handsome young man like you were, Grandmother. Perhaps I’ll have dozens of young men vying to win my hand,” she said dreamily.

“You don’t need scores of suitors, Lya,” Benjen said with a frown. “You need only one…if he’s the right one.”

“Listen to the boy,” a deep voice chuckled from the doorway.

“Grandfather!” the children shouted, leaping up from the floor to greet him.

Sansa’s pulse skipped a beat at the sight of him standing there smiling at her and a flush touched her cheeks.

 _All these years and he can still set my heart to racing_ , she thought, her expression as dreamy as her granddaughter’s had just been.

His hair had turned silver with time but was still thick and lush. He wore it shorter than he had as a young man but it still curled around her finger easily enough. He was still the handsomest man she’d ever laid eyes on, she was certain.

She picked back up the shirt she was making Benjen and adjusted her spectacles. She could have it finished tonight if she applied herself.

She heard Jon’s laughter as the children scoured his pockets for the pennies and hard candies he’d surely have hidden there for them. Anytime any of the grandchildren came to stay, Jon would stop by Poole’s store when he left his firm in the afternoon and purchase some sweets. Between his overcoat, jacket, vest and trouser pants, there were a dozen pockets to search and Jon often looked like a pauper by the time the children were finished with their search.

“Go on, you little thieves. You’ve taken my last cent again,” he growled jokingly as he ruffled Benjen’s hair and the pair of them ran from the room to count up their coins and devour their treats.

Sansa grinned but kept her head down and her attention on the shirt as she heard her husband come closer. His boots came into view. She could feel her cheeks growing hot. She looked up shyly to see him smiling down at her and holding her ball gown and the bundling sack.

“What’s this doing out?” he asked. “Surely, our granddaughters are far too young to have any suitors.”

“Jon Snow,” she admonished. “You know perfectly well Catelyn will be seventeen this spring. An acceptable age for a young lady to have a suitor.”

“Not my Little Cat,” he gasped in mock disbelief with regards to their oldest granddaughter. “I’ll have a word with her father about keeping her locked away another five years at least.”

Sansa laughed and said Lyanna had asked to play dress up in the gown. “I’ll have to hem it for her. I suppose, Benjen’s shirt can wait another day."

“You were always clever with your needle,” he said as he leaned down to cup her cheek. “But what of this, my darling girl?” he asked, indicating the sack. She’d not felt like a girl in many years except when Jon called her that. It never failed to make her smile. “No one we know practices bundling anymore. Our zealous, young reverend apparently has _views_ on it and says it’s quite wicked,” he sniffed with disdain.

It was getting harder and harder to talk him into attending services. She was tempted to agree with him some Sundays but shuddered to think what the other townsfolk would say.

“I know,” she sighed. “So many things change.”

“One thing does not,” he vowed, taking her hand before brushing it with his lips.

Sansa cleared her throat audibly, trying to mask how easily he could affect her even after all these years.

“It would make a lovely warm, blanket, I suppose. I could give it to one of our girls or granddaughters someday.”

“It’s expected to be quite cold tonight. We could use it to keep us warm,” Jon said in a husky tone with a heated look. He pulled her to her feet. He nuzzled his nose into her ear. She knew that tone. She knew that look. She swayed against him. “There may even come a blizzard some folks are saying in town.”

“Oh, a blizzard,” she commented absently as a kaleidoscope of butterflies seemed to awaken in her belly. “Well…we should make sure to stay warm. I’ll make some soup and…”

Jon grinned and cut her off with a kiss.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sad to end this in a way but this felt right. It has been a pleasure to write while I chase away my January blahs. Thank you for reading, especially you lovelies that have left me such sweet comments :)


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